Flights of Fancy
by Fensta
Summary: Penned Pre-DH, 'Quidditch fic'. With the Prophecy fulfilled, the Trio are moving on. Harry is at the forefront of professional Quidditch, Ron is training as an Auror and 'Mione is an Unspeakable. But is Harry's perfect world really as safe as it feels?
1. Breaking News

Set post-7th year (but mostly written pre Deathly Hallows release). Harry Potter and the gang have taken care of Moldy Wart, and have gotten on with their lives. It's now over a year since that fateful Summer of Chaos, but if the gang think the hard times are over, they're going to be sorely disappointed.

Based on what I thought the world of Harry Potter would look like after the fall of Voldemort. This was originally written before Deathly Hallows came out (see the note below), so many of the things in this story are AU. Don't worry, though. It's nothing apocalyptic.

_**18th May 2009** - After a period of 2 years without a new chapter, I've decided to continue this story. Obviously, since I last posted a chapter here we've had Deathly Hallows, which throws a lot of my guessed back-story out the window. In the interests of not completely destroying this story, I've decided not to edit any chapters to conform to canon, which means that some people are alive that shouldn't be, and some are alive when they should be dead. You'll just have to go with whatever you read and assume nothing. If you're a returning reader, I apologise for the time it's taken, but there were reasons. Thank you for looking me up again, and I hope you enjoy the new (and old chapters) as much as you did the first time I tried this.  
__Chris_

**This fic has an T rating for some strong language and scenes of suggestive content. If you believe this may offend you, please do not read past this message. **

The ships are the classical 'canon' ships. There are mentions of gay relationships, but not amongst the canonal characters. Just read, it's not what you're thinking.

This is a Work in Progress (WIP), so any suggestions (plot or grammatical) would be appreciated when reviewing.

Enjoy,  
Chris

* * *

**_Flights Fancy Potter for President_**

_By Niall Broomlove_

_Hello Readers, and welcome to another edition of Potter-watch. Over the past few weeks we've been following the Saviour of the Wizarding World's progress as he takes up professional Quidditch with the newly formed 'Norwich Flights'. _

_Potter's team have made an impressive start to their first season, and after their 230 - 40 win over 6th place Ballycastle on Wednesday, they find themselves currently floating between the Tornadoes, and the Falcons in 4th position. Things could get even better for the Flights if they take a win away from their meeting with the Kestrels on Exmoor tomorrow. With both the Tornadoes and Magpies away on the continent, they have the opportunity to slingshot themselves up the table._

_With Potter's Chasers on form, the bookies are expecting the Flights to move up the rankings with an impressive win over the Irish team who are struggling this season, already having lost to both the Prides and the Cannons. One bookie was quoted as saying: "If the Flights don't win, I'm out of business!" and another commenting that: "Mundungus would loose everything if the Flights loose!"_

_Even with the large bets going into this game, there's more riding on this game than just the financial security of the bookies. This will be the first game that Potter will be Captain of the team after Beater Morrisey suffered a brain injury in their last game against Bats which, the healers at St Mungo's confirmed this morning, will put him out for the rest of the season. While Potter's position on the team isn't contested, his leadership has been subject to heated debate after his reported breakdown during the Summer of 1997._

_While there is still no hard evidence at this point, the rumours of Potter's less-than-stable mental state have been circulating since that eventful August night over a year ago when the secret organisation now known as 'The Order Of The Phoenix', headed by the current Hogwarts Headmistress; Minerva McGonagall, staged an attack on You-Know-Who, effectively ending the Second War with the death of You-Know-Who and four of his top Death Eaters._

_However, as we all know, this victory came at a price, with all but two members of the Order coming out the battle either with severe injuries, or without their lives at all. While Potter was among this number, we still have no idea as to what his injuries were, and to this day he refuses to talk about it with the press. What we do know however, is that out of all the survivors of the battle, Potter was last to emerge from the Private wing of St Mungo's, after spending just over a year in rehabilitation. Not two months later, it was revealed on the eve of the Flights' first match against the Appleby Arrows that Potter would be the team's starting Seeker._

_Since that date, Potter has proven to be well up to the job of British Quidditch, and has been the team's saving grace in more than a few instances. With an impressive record of eight catches off twelve starts, three of which with broken limbs, Potter has gathered an almost fanatical following, mirrored only by his fame during the Second War._

_Indeed, it is this fan base that have been calling for the ex-auror cadet to take the captaincy after the eventful match against the Harpies where Potter was seen to be leading the team, despite Morrisey still being on the pitch. While Potter's enemies in the sport might point out that the Flight's recorded their first loss that game, his supporters would probably point out that after Potter started to take charge, the Harpies only scored 10 points to the Flights' 60 (discounting the snitch that was then caught by Potter to end the match with a 350 – 240 win for the Harpies). It remains one of the highlights of the season for this reporter._

_With the match against the lagging Kenmare Kestrels fast approaching, Potter will be under increasing pressure to prove his objectors wrong. The Kestrels have a full strength side, but that's hardly going to help them with their current form. Their star chaser and captain, Thomlinson, has been under the weather since his side's extremely wet encounter with the Magpies last month, and despite claims that he's suffering from a rare strain of the Merthia Virus (made 'popular' in the 1400s by the Dark Lord Trinidus), Thomlinson has been determined to play-on. The Kestrel's Keeper, Rocker, has also been looking a little off colour, but that has been confirmed as a dressing-room prank involving Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes latest product, Énvy-Éclairs._

_The Flights on the other hand, are going from strength-to-strength, with the possible exception of the injury to Morrisey. If they continue on in their current form, the team have both the skill and momentum to steam roll the Irish side. Incidentally, filling the place of the injured Flights captain will be the young reserve Beater, Akins, who receives only his third start in the side since it's creation at the start of the season. Impressive in his other starts, the game against the Cannons stands out in the mind, this reporter looks forward to seeing how the young man fresh out of Hogwarts deals with the permanent position he's landed himself. So far, the only word we've managed to get out of the boy concerning his new place on the team has been: "Beribbon..." We have yet to identify what the word means, and have translators on the case._

_The starting whistle will sound at three forty seven (1547 3:47pm) on Exmoor tomorrow, a game that is already sold out, so if you've not got a ticket already, be sure to pick up an edition of the Evening Prophet where this reporter will be giving a detailed run-down of the game, along with all the usual post-match commentary. _

_For the build-up for the other weekend matches, go to Page 17. For the International Quidditch listings, including build-up for both the Tornado and Magpie qualification games, turn to Page 18..._

Ron sighed and slapped the paper down on the coffee table he was currently resting his feet on. As if Harry didn't have enough on his plate at the moment... Well, at least the reporter had been complimentary about Harry's seeker ability, and seemed supported in an 'over-all' kind of way.

Even if they had just reminded the entire wizarding population of Harry's supposed 'mental state'.

In truth, Harry had been a little unhinged after the final battle, but it was more guilt-ridden than psychopathic. The final battle had been much to heavy in terms of casualties for Ron's liking... Percy might have been a complete twazuk at times, but he had still been a Weasley deep down.

Ron shook his head, getting rid of the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. As the article mentioned, it had been over a year since the fateful day on the 1st of August when Voldemort's world had come tumbling down around his ankles, and the wizarding world was still picking up the pieces. Every now and again the papers would report another body found, or another person had come a cropper to a dark artefact left in a conspicuous place. It was as if Voldemort continued to terrorise the population even from the grave.

Ron and the rest of the Order had moved on though. A private service back in the Christmas of '97 had laid to rest all of those who had placed their lives on the line for the rest of them, and paid for it with their blood. After that the healing process had started. They'd all carry with them the deep and ingrained sadness and feelings of loss that came with war, but it was over now, and the survivors had gotten on with their lives.

Even Harry.

Ron smiled. Harry's 'year of rehabilitation' had actually been half a year of rehabilitation, and then half a year of pure relaxation and fun. At least, it had been fun for Ron. With Hermione and him finally on the same page romantically, they'd gotten engaged and despite Ron's mother's (embarrassing) warnings, Hermione had become pregnant by the time she'd turned 19. To say the family had been ecstatic would have been an understatement. Of course, Ron's brothers had initially teased him mercilessly, but the twins had soon started teasing Bill about the fact that Ron had beaten him and Fleur to it. Even Harry had joined in with the teasing at a stage, although he wasn't really one to talk as he and Ginny had had a scare a couple of weeks previously. Of course, no-one other than Ron and Hermione knew that particular secret, and indeed, it was not the only secret the two were exclusively privy to.

A few months into the Trio's hunt for the Horcruxs, Harry had seemingly come to his senses, although Ron had suspicions that Hermione had something to do with it by her body language at the time. Harry, in a rush of pure 'Harryness', had apparated straight to Hogsmeade and ran up to the Castle, despite almost splinching himself with an old woman in the process. Ron had tried to keep up, but as soon as Harry had reached the castle itself, it had been almost impossible to keep track of the black haired boy. Ron had later found out that Harry had immediately found Ginny on top of the Astronomy tower where, naturally, Ginny had slapped his cheek so hard the mark was visible for days. Then they'd 'made up', at least, that's what it had certainly looked like when Ron eventually thought to check the Astronomy tower.

Ron smirked. For nearly as long as he could remember, it had always been amazingly hard to blackmail his little sister in any way, as she seemed to always have some larger secret of his tucked away within her brain. But now the tables had well and truly turned.

Ginny and Harry had had a rather rocky time of it after the battle, and before it even, what with the stress of not only having to defeat the world's scariest and most human-like snake, but also having to hide their lover's squabbles from the Weasley men, and with Ginny's voice box, they'd come close to bowing it a couple of times. You see, neither of them wanted anyone to know about their little relationship, Harry in particular was extremely adamant about it, and Ron could understand. If Voldemort ever found out, Ginny would be the first in line to be kidnapped etc. It wasn't that he distrusted the Weasleys, or any of the Order for that matter, but the less people that found out the safer Ginny was, and Ron was all for that. So, for that time during those last months of Voldemort's reign, Ron and Hermione had helped keep the lover's secret, taking the blame for many-a shouting contest. among other things.

However, as of about a year and a half ago, there were no more dark lords out for the couple's blood, and Ron had every right to tell the entire world about the relationship. Hermione, of course, had instructed him that it was their decision as to when they let everyone else into the secret, but Ron couldn't see why he couldn't get something out of the deal.

Ginny didn't need to know that Hermione had vowed never to sleep with him again if he told a soul...

"Feet, Ron." A very familiar voice said as she swept into the room, swatting at Ron's feet with her own copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Reluctantly, Ron removed his feet from the coffee table, and was immediately rewarded by the comforting weight of Hermione as she sat at his side, leaning her body against him.

"I s'pose you've read what the _Prophet's_ written?" she said, snuggling up against Ron's chest and throwing her rolled up copy next to his on the coffee table.

"It's not as bad as I expected," Ron said, closing his eyes and taking in the sent of Hermione's hair. The first time he'd smelt the Amorentia potion in Slughorn's classroom he'd tasted this sent, although he couldn't put his finger on what it was at the time, it had hit him soon after they'd been forced to share the same bed on their search for Horcruxs. "At least it compliments him on his Quidditch abilities."

Hermione snorted into his shirt, "They could have painted Harry as a complete loony like they did last year and you wouldn't have cared as long as they'd said he was the best Seeker for a century." Ron didn't bother retorting, seeing as the statement was probably completely true.

"You going to watch this one with me and Ginny?" he said, nudging his pregnant fiancée's head with his shoulder, "You promised him you'd go watch, you know."

Hermione groaned, whether from the nudge to her head, or to Ron's second statement, it was unclear. "But I'm pregnant... and he knows I get stressed at Quidditch matches... and I _hate_ watching him play... and I always think he's going to kill himself... and... and it's '_Ginny and I_', Ron!"

Ron chuckled, Hermione still hadn't stopped trying to correct his speech, and she'd gotten noticeably more persistent after she'd become pregnant; she'd even started to correct Harry's speech, and Ron had always assumed Harry spoke perfect Merlin's English.

"Yes, of course it is dear." He said, kissing the top of her head in an understanding manner. "Me and Ginny will make sure we have our wands on us, just in case he falls off his broom, which, just for your information, he's only done _three_ times."

Hermione sighed, teaching Ron to speak the Queen's English was impossible, but it was fun to try anyway.

"Four times, Ron," replied a voice from the other room, "and if you count that game with the Tornadoes where he jumped onto Luci's broom to catch the snitch, it's five."

Hermione smiled as Ginny walked into the room, her nose as red as her hair from the wind, before realising exactly what she'd said.

"Then I'm definitely not going!" she said, "There's almost a fifty percent chance that he'll fall off his broom! I don't want to see that." Naturally, both Weasleys smirked at the comment.

"Sorry Hermione," Ginny said, dropping her Hogwarts robe on one of the many comfy chairs that littered Ron and Hermione's sitting room, "but Harry's already given me your ticket, and it's specifically named for you so there's no wriggling out of it!" she added, seeing Hermione start to protest again.

"Heh, sorry dear." Ron said, "looks like Harry's thought about this too much for you to miss it." he turned to his sister, who had flopped down on one of the more flowery chairs (a present from their mother), "Eh... where exactly _is_ Harry? I thought you were coming here via the Club to pick him up?"

Ginny smiled wryly, "Training... again. You'd think Mathias would give the team the night off the day before a match." Ron mirrored his sister's expression.

"Yeh, but Mathias has always been a perfectionist. Remember when Harry came back from training the day before the Tornadoes match? He looked as if he'd already played three games!"

"Probably had," grumbled Ginny, "the way he works them borders on criminal, but I suppose he's getting results. Perhaps he's getting the team to gel by creating a mutual hatred of him?"

"It worked for the Cannons last season..." Ron started, but was interrupted by a snort from Ginny.

"Ron, the Cannons hated their manager because they were loosing every game, and just because they came second bottom last season doesn't mean it 'worked' for them, despite the improvement on the three years previous."

Hermione snorted into Ron's shirt, and the boy had the sense to just shrug and drop the subject.

"Harry should be home in a few hours. I would have stayed in Norwich to watch, but I think the girls are getting suspicious of me, so I thought it would be best if I came straight here." Ginny said, rubbing her temple in a very 'Harry' way. Opposite her, Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"You mean Harry hasn't even told the team yet?" she said, "Surely they've noticed you two by now." She eyed Ginny up critically, but the redhead just smiled serenely back.

"What can I say? We're good at keeping it a secret." she sighed, leaning back in the armchair with her hands behind her head, "If we can keep it a secret from the twins for so long, keeping it a secret from a bunch of sports-mad Quidditch players is like falling off a broomstick."

"Something that Harry is apparently very good at..." Hermione mumbled, inciting a grin from her fiancée.

"And yet something else that you're better at!"

It wasn't surprising that the next sound that came out his mouth was a high-pitched squeal.

* * *

Harry sighed as he lent tiredly on the handle of his broom. It had been a long day, what with speed training in the morning, a tactics session in the afternoon, followed by a team briefing (which he'd had to speak at), and then Snitch training in the evening. Checking his watch, Harry's heart leapt as he spotted the minute hand hovering over the '50' mark.

"Just ten more minutes..." he mumbled to himself, setting off on another circuit of the training pitch.

Speeding up, Harry got himself into a more streamlined posture as he ducked under Ez, who was currently soaring towards the goals at the opposite end of the pitch with a Quaffle. Ez, or Ezmeralda was one of the team's starting chasers, and a very good flyer. She specialised in a quick style of Quidditch, with lots of passing and high-speed manurers. While she wasn't exceptionally fast in a straight line, she had the cornering skill of any Seeker, and her skill with the Quaffle was second-to-none on the team. Signed from the Pride's reserves, she was new to first-team Quidditch, but was doing very well, holding the team's goal record for the season (and therefore, all time).

Harry put on a spurt of speed, taking him round the back of one set of goalposts, and had to preform a quick roll to avoid a Bludger that was aimed at his head. Harry gave it's sender, Timothei, a quick smirk, before swerving a second time to avoid a second Bludger, this time sent from Robin, the other of the team's Beaters. Timothei was Russian, and was new to the British Quidditch style of play, having played for a Moscow team before moving to the Flights. He was still working on 'placing' his Bludgers in strategic places, rather than using brute force to actually knock players off their brooms. Robin, on the other hand, had been a Beater on the Ravenclaw team during Harry's latter days at Hogwarts, and was well versed in the 'British style'. Spotted by scouts during his 7th year, Robin had only been a reserve until Michael's untimely exit from the season during the last match. So far, Robin had only played a handful of games due to illness on the part of Timothei, but had preformed very well, despite his deceptively light frame. Harry expected him to become a very good player some day, he just hoped it was sooner rather than later.

Putting on another spurt of speed, getting away from the Beater pair before they had a chance to attack him any more, Harry sped straight trough the middle of the practising Chasers, coming so close to Luci that she almost fell off her broom. Harry looked around, preparing himself to preform a tight turn if she fell, but was pleased to see her successfully preform a Sloth Grip Roll (sans ball) to regain her balance.

Luce was another young player, having been bought from the Harpies' reserve squad, and a slight risk by the manager. She'd preformed excellently however, with exceptional speed and a defensive style of play, she'd allowed the other chasers to go all-out in attack without leaving the keeper wide open. She had played for Hufflepuff during her Hogwarts days, and the Harpies reserves ever since, making good progress at the higher-level of play. Harry could vaguely remember her from Hogwarts, her having been in Fred and George's year, especially as part of Cedric Diggory's (R.I.P.) exceptional Hufflepuff team.

Harry looked back to the front to find the team's Keeper, Tomas, diving from side to side as a trio of charmed Quaffles repeatedly tried to score themselves. Tomas was French, and quite a miserable character until you got to know him. Luckily, his skill at Keeping didn't take the same amount of time to warm up. A relative veteran of the sport at almost 30 (and the oldest in the squad now that Michael had been 'disabled'), he'd spent his glory days at the Scottish club Appleby Arrows. After being dropped to the sidelines as his career tapered off, he'd started looking for a new club, and luckily for him, the Flights were recruiting. He was both reliable and experienced amongst a team of relative youngsters, and a real asset to the team, whatever the Arrows believed.

Harry slalomed through the goalposts and sped up the pitch, on search for the Snitch, but not trying very hard as a glance at his watch told him he only had five more minutes left to waste.

Accelerating, Harry soared the length of the pitch, rocketing into the turn round the goalposts at the other end with such speed that not even the quick reactions of Robin could send a Bludger his way with any success, not that a slight whistling in Harry's ears didn't conform he'd tried anyway. As Harry bared down on the Chasers again, he slowed to watch the last member of the team, Rob (or Robert to his face), score a neat shot from long range with a looping throw.

Rob was the real 'star' of the team (other than Harry). Once the Pride of Portree's most famous and celebrated player, and a regular England player to boot, Rob was forced into the reserve team after a dispute with the club management (although what the argument was about is unknown, as neither he nor the club would talk about it). Soon after, he was placed on the transfer market, and although the Tornadoes, Wasps and Magpies all expressed interest, the Flights managed to snap him up with a bit of quick negotiation. He was the one who suggested Ez for the squad, after he'd played with her on the reserve squad, and in a few (controversial) England international matches. It was their chemistry on the pitch that had helped both England regain some international integrity (after the disastrous 2004 World Cup campaign) and the Flights gain a top-half position in the league.

With another glance at his watch (three minutes to go), Harry changed direction, shooting straight up into the air and stopping just short of the pigeon that was 'charmed' to fly at the height the anti-muggle charms ended.

Looking down, the pitch stretched out below Harry, with the Beaters at one end, hitting Bludgers back and forth, and the rest the team at the other with their shooting practice. Harry watched with amusement as he saw Luci backhanding the Quaffle they were using to Rob, who easily put it through one of the hoops as Tomas followed Ez, who'd also joined in the move by flying behind Luce at the same time as (and in the opposite direction to) Rob to draw the keeper. It was one of their many set-play moves, this one nicknamed the 'Double Cross Deception'. They'd used it for the first time in an international match against Holland, one that Harry had been watching with interest. At the time he'd been seriously thinking about taking Quidditch up professionally, but he never actually believed he'd be playing with two of the England players he'd been watching that day.

Of course, there had been more. Michael had been a regular England player up until two years ago, when another serious injury in a game against Canada had caused him to drop out of the team. It was this same injury that was forcing him to retire for the rest of the season, and hand over the captaincy to Harry.

Harry swallowed nervously at the thought. He'd captained the Gryffindor Quidditch side well enough in his 6th year, and although he'd been absent for his 7th year, he was sure he would have been more than happy to captain them again.

But, this wasn't a small school team, where the consequences for loosing were another house would get more points in the House cup, and everyone in your house looking dejected for a couple of days. This was professional Quidditch, this was a side that expected good results, and these were supporters that expected the world.

And Harry was the captain...

Harry frowned and shook his head, clearing his doubts for long enough for him to look at his watch... thirty seconds left. Sighing, Harry leant forward on his broom, bringing it into a slow and controlled decent. Looking over to the Beaters, he prepared to yell at them that it was time to call it a night when he caught sight of a little glimmer of gold in the middle of one of the hoops. Looking closer he quickly identified the Snitch, lazily slaloming through the hoops.

Forgetting the time, Harry instinctively flattened himself on his broom and shot off towards the goal posts. Apparently somebody noticed, as a shout came from one of the Chasers, probably Luci, but he ignored it. As Harry reached the hoops, he swore as he notice the Snitch just sneaking the wrong side of the far hoop, he'd have to go right the way around to avoid smashing into the sturdy wooden structures. Unless...

Harry descended the rest of the way to the ground, pulling level and feeling the grass brushed his toes, inciting another screech from the watching Chaser. Harry mentally filed away that he'd have to talk to her about drawing attention to his Snitch chases, she'd done it in the Bats game, although Harry was so far ahead of the Bat's Seeker that it hadn't mattered. Clearing his mind, Harry watched the Snitch as it darted around the back of the hoops, almost as if it was determined to keep something between it and Harry.

Harry reached the base of the goalposts and immediately changed direction, shooting straight up at the golden ball of metal, despite the way his back protested at the g-forces. To his total annoyance, the Snitch used that same moment to sneak through the hoop itself, yet again moving to put the post he'd just gone under between him and it.

Growling, Harry corkscrewed around the shaft of the post, making his vision tunnel slightly with the forces involved. The Snitch was yet again right in front of him, and as Harry stretched out a hand for it he saw it move, and move fast.

Harry gritted his teeth as he cornered sharply, ending up with him streaking down the pitch upside down. Within seconds, Harry sensed rather than saw the Chasers scatter as he encountered them on the half way line, but he was concentrating so hard on the Snitch that he missed the customary scream from Luci as he passed.

The Snitch made an abrupt move directly upwards, and Harry followed, a vague niggle in the back of his head wishing he was still Seeking the much slower Snitch that Hogwarts used, rather than the souped-up version that teams trained with. All the same, Harry was gaining on the tiny ball of gold, and was already turning as it made yet another change in direction when it encountered the ceiling of the charms.

As Harry and the Snitch skimmed the anti-muggle charms, Harry's toes glowing blue as they brushed against the otherwise-invisible shield, he reached out his hand once more. Leaning forward on his broom Harry felt as his fingers brushed wildly against the metal ball. Harry growled, pushing his customised Lightningbolt broomstick to the limit, and he inched closer.

Harry's eyes never left the ball in these last few seconds of the chase, watching as it wobbled in the air, evading capture like it's fowl counterpart would do. His hand was poised, waiting until the ball was right where he wanted before he moved. He only had one shot at this before it changed direction again, and he wasn't going to mess it up.

Suddenly, Harry's eyes picked up the distinctive movement that he'd been waiting for, and Harry's hand snapped out. Harry let out a whoop of joy as he felt the little ball fluttering in his gloved hand, sighing as he came out of his dive.

It was then that he noticed that the ground was still coming up very fast. Very fast indeed.

Leaning back with all his might on the handle, Harry forced the nose of his broom up at the same time as breaking. He felt the broom strain under him, and when he heard yet another scream from Luci, he first mistook it for some kind of sign of protest from the broom itself. The broom levelled out, but Harry's left ankle made contact with the ground, forcing him off balance, and he came tumbling off.

The last thing he thought as he felt his broom come away from his body was '_Ginny's going to kill me!_'

* * *

The next thing he knew, Harry found himself led on his back, looking up at a ring of amused and concerned people.

"Now, I know you know you think we think you're good," one of them said, Rob by the sound of it, "but stunts like that really aren't going to convince us that we know you know that we know you're good."

Harry shook his head, as was surprised to feel the comforting weight of his glasses still upon his nose. "Wha?" he said, somewhat stupidly.

"Don't listen to him," one of the girls said, although by Ez shoving Rob with her elbow, she kinda gave away who it was, "most of what comes out of his mouth is complete shit anyway."

Rob had the decency to look comically offended, but didn't comment. Instead he shoved the girl back.

"Are you okay?" Luci asked, concern in her eyes. Harry thought that was a very good question, and started trying to feel his way around his body.

His feet were still attached, which was a good start, and his toes still wiggled. His legs certainly looked like they were in one piece, and his pelvis certainly wasn't hurting as much as is should if it had broken. His chest felt as if a hippogriff had trampled on it, but the lack of sharp pains suggested nothing was broken here either. Both arms were now propping him up, showing a lack of injury, and his head, although dizzy, wasn't particularly painful either.

"I wont say 'I feel fine'," he said with a small smile, "but I'm okay, I think." Luci's concerned face lifted with a small smile.

"You ver lucky." Timothei said, his huge arms crossed over his impressive chest much like some sort of imperious Greek Olympian, just, with a Quidditch uniform over the top. "Ze charm on ze ground vuden't have helped anyvone ozer than you at zat speed."

Harry's mind raced, trying to make sense of this strange statement. The charm on the ground of the training pitch was designed to stop the players injuring themselves during a training session by doing something as stupid as falling off their broom. However, a charm of that size would have to be constantly strengthened to prevent it fading, so the inventor had the ingenious idea of using the magic of the user (i.e., the idiot who falls into it) to strengthen the shield during the time it was being actively used. It had been a recent development in Quidditch related development, and Harry made a mental note to thank Professor Flitwick next time he saw him. Naturally, Tim thought that Harry's impact would have been too much for the shield to protect him from injury, unless the person happened to be the Boy-Who-Lived-Again. What Tim didn't know was that Harry was only exceptionally powerful when he channelled his love into his magic. Harry really had been lucky in that regard, he had been thinking of his Gin as he fell.

"Yeh," Harry said, whistling in appreciation of the truth, "Real lucky..."

"POTTER!" a voice shouted from behind Harry. Turning, Harry spotted the plump form of the team manager, Mathias Thrombi, waddling towards the group of players.

"Hi, Boss." Harry said, wincing at the look on his manager's face.

"What the HELL did you think you were DOING!?" the man said, his red face probably a combination of rage and waddling too fast. At times, the man reminded Harry of what Dudley would look like at the age of 30, but at the same time, had to quash the thought before he started treating the man as such.

Harry scratched the back of his head, finding the small Snitch still in his hand. Holding it out, he said, "Catching the Snitch... That is my job description, isn't it?"

A few snorts came from the players around him, especially Rob (who seemed to find the whole thing amazingly amusing) who faked coughing so well that Luci started slapping his back in sympathy.

"Don't cheek me Potter! I gave you that captaincy because I thought you were ready for that kind of responsibility, but comments like that, and reckless flying like THAT makes me question my judgement." He frowned down at Harry with a look that told Harry not to argue back. Wisely, Harry decided to let the topic drop.

"To be fair though Chief," Tomas said in his strange Scot-French hybrid of an accent, "it was a bloody good capture. If this was a game, we'd have won."

Thrombi locked eyes with the Frenchman, "If this was a match, Harry'd be out for the rest of the season, probably for the rest of the year." The manager growled. He turned back to Harry. "De-brief you're team, and send them home. I want the team assembled in the clubhouse at 10 tomorrow morning so we can go over tactics one more time before heading off to Exmoor." With that, the manager turned on his heal and started back to the clubhouse, although he did shout over his shoulder; "And for Merlin's sake, don't kill yourself before tomorrow's match, will you?"

Harry sighed and got to his feet, turning back to his players. _His_ players, that sounded strangely satisfying.

"You all preformed well today," he said, '_It's always good to start with a positive_' Wood had once told him before he'd left, "Luce, you're speed training was encouraging, but you need to work on your cornering a little or you'll get caught out."

The young blond nodded in response, her expression clearly showing she was trying to memorise Harry's sentence word-for-word.

"Robert, Ez, that attacking move is developing nicely, I hope to see it in use tomorrow. But on a similar note to Luce, watch out for the counter attack. Until Luce gets her high speed turn perfected, you may have to stall their chasers so she can get back to help out. Ez, I'm especially looking at you for this." The pair nodded in understanding, Ez giving Luci a quick encouraging smile.

"Don't worry old girl," she said, "I've got your back."

Harry smiled and turned to his keeper. "Tomas, every time I see that Starfish defence it makes me smile, but you need to watch the third Chaser; you know the move is weak in that respect. If you have to, get Luce to take the guy out, I'm sure she's more than willing to oblige." The entire team smirked at the comment. In the last two matches, Luci had literally managed to knock a Chaser off his (they were both guys twice her size) broom. In the second match she'd gotten away with it too. Three times.

"Tim, naturally, I've been watching both you and Robbie like hawks, and not just because you keep trying to knock me off my broom!" Tim smirked and Robin smiled shyly. "You're adjusting nicely to our style of play, and normally I'd say this was a good thing, but I think that tomorrow I want you to go back to you're old ways for one match." Harry said, making Timothei raise an eyebrow. "It's the way you and Robbie go together that I think could be interesting. Tim, you hit with the aim to dislodge and nothing else, while Robbie, you aim to cause havoc with their Chaser and Seeker movements. If you both do your own thing tomorrow, I get the feeling they won't be able to cope with two totally different styles of Beating. Naturally, this might hider you working together some of the time, but I believe it will hinder them more. What d'you think?" he looked at Robin.

"I...er..." he said, obviously slightly shocked at being asked so abruptly. Tim came to his rescue.

"It might vork." he said, a sly grin on his face, "I zink zey von't know to duck or sverve, pass or evade. Ve'll certainly try it, ey Vobbie?"

Robin smiled in a relieved way, "Yeh, sounds good." Harry smiled at him kindly.

"Don't worry Robbie, you've started for us before, and you know you can play at this level. You'll be great out there." He turned to the team in general.

"Now, lets get off to bed!" he said, opening his arms out wide, "get some sleep – that means refraining from inviting people into your bed Robert," he added, glancing at the grinning and ever-so-promiscuous Chaser, "you worked hard today, and I'm sure we'll slaughter them tomorrow. Well done today people!"

The team gave a small cheer, before making their way off the training pitch as one. Robin came up to Harry's side, and handed him his Lightningbolt.

"You might need this tomorrow," he said, Harry's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, crap." he said, taking it in his hands with genuine care, "I can't believe I forgot it! Perhaps that shield doesn't protect against concussion." he joked, "Thanks Robbie."

The young man smiled shyly, and seemed content to simply walk alongside as Ez came up on Harry's other side and engaged him in conversation.

"...and don't get me started on cats!" Ez said, shaking her head as Harry attempted to argue, "They're horrible things! They climb everywhere, looking at you with their evil little yellow eyes. They just emit an aura of evil!"

"And naturally, Tania has one." Harry joked, mentioning Ez's current girlfriend. He wasn't really prepared for the darkening of the girl's eyes.

"It's called 'Snuffles'... I mean _come on_! It stalks about the house as if it owns the place, and whenever I stay over, I find the damn thing curled up between the two of us in the morning. It's as if it _wants_ to get between us." Harry could tell that the girl was probably going to be arrested for feline murder by the morning if he continued the conversation on any longer, and therefore, very wisely, changed the subject.

"So, what d'you think Robbie's ready for the first team." he said, watching as the boy next to him picked his head up at the mention of his name. Luckily, Ez's mood changed immediately.

"I'll tell you, when we were both at Hogwarts, and he turned up for the Ravenclaw try-outs, I actually thought he'd joined the wrong group. I tried to tell him he wasn't in the group for Chaser try-outs, but he said, and very quietly mind you, that he wanted to be a Beater." She sighed and glanced at the boy, who was smiling serenely, lost in the memory. "Eventually I just left him to get on with it, sure in myself that his back would be one of the ones I'd see skulking back up to the castle later. Apparently, my face was a sight to behold when I found out he'd made Beater."

Robin laughed out loud at this, "It looked as if she'd seen a ghost and been kissed by Snape at the same time!" A 'harrumph' came from Ez, but Harry ignored it, "I just wish Colin had been there to capture the memory." he sighed.

"Colin? Colin Creevy?" said Harry, "of course, he was in your year, wasn't he?"

Robin went to say something, but Ez butted in. "Shush-up Potter, this is _my_ story. You can ask questions later!" she said in a voice that wasn't to be argued with. Harry and Robin shared a raised eyebrow moment. "Anyway, I was still unconvinced, and next practice I started watching him closely. I was surprised to find he could actually hit a Bludger without breaking his arm, but when it came flying straight at my head I managed to fall off my broom with shock."

She rubbed her head, pausing as they entered the light and warmth of the clubhouse, making their way towards the changing rooms. "It wasn't my finest hour, I'll admit, and from that moment on I've held little Robbie somewhat in respect. He has the accuracy of a Chaser throwing a Quaffle, with the tactical mind of Ronald Weasley." Harry had to but-in at this point.

"Just a sec, this is even more interesting than Robbie knowing Colin. _You_ knew Ron?!" he said, peering at the girl in interest.

"Yeh, well," she said, looking slightly embarrassed, "he beat me at chess a few times when I used to go out with his brother Fred."

"_You_ went out with _Fred Weasley_!? He kept _that_ quiet." Harry said, slightly impressed with his friend and business associate, "Lavender and Parvarti were _both_ under the impression he only dated Gryffindor girls." Harry sighed, happy in the knowledge he knew some gossip the two self-styled queens of hearsay didn't. "Just a sec, aren't you gay?"

Ez smiled back, "I wasn't born gay, Harry dear. And anyway, who d'you think turned me this way?" This statement was made at a very convenient point for her, as she immediately escaped into the female changing rooms, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.

Stunned for a second, the two boys looked at each other before slowly moving into their own changing room. After about three minutes of complete silence between the two, eventually Harry said, "No wonder Fred's never kept a relationship going longer than a month..."

* * *

Harry sighed as he stepped into the apartment he shared with Ron and Hermione. Christened 'The Den' by Fred and George, it had become the centre of the three's social lives as everybody seemed to want to come to them, rather than them having to travel. Since Harry had become a professional Quidditch player, and Ron and Hermione's double celebration of marriage and pregnancy (despite her claims that morning sickness didn't feel like celebration), they'd had a steady torrent of visitors. Sometimes, Harry thought Ron looked more tired than he did after a hard day's training when he came home.

Tonight it was late however, and Ron wasn't up for Harry to gauge the tiredness of. Well, late for Hermione's new 'pregnancy schedule' as the boy's had Christened it. She'd reasoned that due to the fact that when the baby came they'd get no sleep, they should catch up on sleep before hand, and therefore, go to bed each night at 10 on the dot.

At first, Ron and Harry had believed the girl had finally lost it. Four months later, and they still thought so.

Therefore, it was with all his Seeker reflexes that Harry moved through the hallway and up the stairs. Missing the creaking step second from top, he emerged on the landing. Stepping carefully over what appeared to be a sleeping Crookshanks, Harry moved to his door and slipped in, silently thanking whatever deity that was up there that his door didn't squeak this time.

Deciding to skip teeth-brushing due to a combined fear of re-opening the door and a desperate desire of sleep, Harry didn't bother with the light as he dropped his stuff somewhere by his desk, and proceeded to undress on the way to his bed.

On the way, he thought he heard a noise and froze in mid-trouser-taking-off, but when it didn't reoccur, he continued with the job, thanking the same deity that none had been present to see him in the ludicrous position of frozen trouser removal.

All that changed when he slipped into bed to find the sheets warm, and the mattress dipping on the opposite side of the bed.

"Hello dear." a very female voice said, a very familiar female voice that really shouldn't have been in his bed, and especially not when he'd specifically told his team not to do the same.

"Gin?" Harry said, feeling out towards the radiating heat source.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Ginny's voice responded in a very bad and seductive way that Harry tried to ignore. His hands finally made contact with a body, but it jumped away in shock.

"Ahh! Harry!" Ginny's voice said again, this time in a high pitched and very _loud_ way, "Your hands are _freezing_!"

"Shh! Gin! You don't want Ron coming in, do you?!" Harry whispered, desperate to shut his girlfriend up, it apparently did the trick as she immediately stopped screeching like a banshee.

"Sorry." she whispered back, "Now, turn around so I can warm you up without those... _ice blocks_ touching me."

Turning, Harry felt the other body move closer to him, and eventually the very warm flesh that he immediately confirmed as Ginny snuggled up against his back. An arm snaked its way around his stomach as another sneaked alongside his neck, before bending at the elbow and resting itself on his chest. Harry suddenly found himself extremely aware of every part of his girlfriend's body that was touching him, but shook it out of his head before he could get excited.

"You're so cold tonight..." Ginny said, and Harry noticed that her mouth was hovering right next to his ear. Unconsciously, he shivered, not at what her words said, but at the way her breathing tickled his ear. "You better let me warm you up a little."

Her voice had taken on the seductive tone once more, and Harry's mind, as much as he knew he should fight it, caved in. Turning onto his back, Harry turned his head at met Ginny's half way, their lips locking in mutual wanton. Eventually however, they did come up for breath.

"It's nice to see you too dear," Harry said, a goofy smile playing on his lips. Apparently Ginny's eyes had adapted to the light as she laughed before commenting.

"You can wipe that smile off your face right now Mr Potter." She said, kissing him again, and therefore making the goofy smile even more permanent. "I know what happens tomorrow, and I also know what intimate relations can do to a man's energy levels the next day." Harry sensed rather than saw her waggling her eyebrows (because he couldn't see a thing).

"On the other hand," Harry said, surprising himself with his change in opinions, "the man you would be having intimate relations with is really quite stressed at this point, and that might just make the difference to his concentration tomorrow."

Ginny's melodic laugher made him smile even more as she settled down, laying down on his chest and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Well, that all depends..." She said, drawing seductive circles on his chest with her finger.

"Depends on what?" Harry replied, shivering slightly.

"How guilty you want to feel in the morning, knowing you got something that you denied your own team..." Ginny said in a whisper, nipping the bottom of Harry's earlobe.

"Honestly Gin, guilt is not something I'm overly worried about right now."

Ginny giggled, "Good!"

* * *

_I did warn you there was suggestive stuff here. I hope you lived through it well enough to come back next time. If you didn't, then by all means, review or pm me (there's a link on my profile page) to tell me so. If you DID enjoy it, do the same, and try to make it longer than three words? Yeh? Much obliged._

_(**Edit: Mar 7th 21:56** I've recieved comments that the end of this chapter didn't really fit with the rest of the story, and I agreed. So, I re-wrote the very end part so that it only hinted to the pair's relationship, as opposed to the stronger stuff that was there. Hope it discourages less people lol)_

_Until next time,_

_Chris aka Fensta_


	2. A Morning of Meetings

_**Happy New Year** to you all at the start of what will probably be a very enventful 2007. If you don't believe me, then just look at all the crap that's happened over the last year and remember how this time last year you thought_ 'this year's going to be boring!_' Well, let's just hope for some British Golds at the many sporting events that are to take place, and hope that silverwear arrives in British sporting hands (especially those of Liverpool FC). Lets hope for Love, Life, and other things that begin in L._

_Oh, and good health too... that's always a plus._

_But anyway, on with my New Year's pressie to you all. It's slightly shorter than Cpt1, but it should be much better for the people who like trying to guess plot lines. I hope you like it, and if you do, please drop me a review. I must congratulate the 5 reviewers of the first chapter, somewhat of a record number for a first chapter in this catagory, or as far as my self-indulgent research had concluded. Please, by all means, keep it up (or join in if you feel like it). As an incentive, and as two of the reviewers have already found out (correct at time of posting), if you're review is long and thought-provoking, I shall endeavour to message back and (possibly) reveal a few sneak-peaks. If you never review, you'll never find out. ;)_

_Enjoy!  
Chris a.k.a._ _**Fensta**_

(And to those of you with Alerts, I appologise for the 6 odd emails uve recieved, or will when the system gets it's arse into gear. I had a bit of trouble with the loading, and i accidentally posted incomplete chapters a few times. Naturally, this had to be changed, and therefore u have more than one 'new chapter' emails. Again, i appologise for crowding up your inbox)

* * *

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING!

Harry mumbled something in a sleepy stupor, throwing his hand out and onto his bed-side table, knocking his glasses to the floor, but managing to stop the ringing of the alarm clock at the same time. Unfortunately, Harry didn't get up at this point. Instead, he snuggled back down under the duvet, and into the side of the body that he shared the bed with.

"Harry..." a voice mumbled tiredly.

Harry didn't move, but instead mumbled back, "Mmhmm..."

"Harry, you need to get up." it said, this time more assertively, although it sounded as if it wasn't too pleased with the idea.

"Nuh," Harry replied, snuggling down further, "Five more minutes."

The body in front of him giggled and shifted so that she was now lying on her front. Unfortunately, this seemed even more like heaven to Harry, and he snuggled into her shoulder. Ginny laughed and kissed his head.

"Come on baby," she said, brushing the hair from his face, "you need to get up and have breakfast before your big day."

Harry groaned, "Don't wanna go." he mumbled into her neck, "big kids make fun of me again."

"Well, if they do," Ginny said, tilting Harry's head back so he looked into her eyes, "send them to me and I'll Bat-Bogey them into next week. Okay?" Then she kissed him softly on the lips.

Harry smiled serenely. "That's good... I like that... Do that again..."

Ginny laughed again. "I'm not above blackmail to get you out of this bed you know." Harry's eyebrows formed a confused frown. "No more kissy-kissy, until you get your cute little ass out of bed. _Now_." She said, her eyes flaring on the last word.

In retrospect, Ginny realised that she should use this method to get Harry to do many more things that get up for his own sake, as she didn't think she'd ever seen him move so fast. On a broomstick or off.

Twenty minuted later, Harry and Ginny entered the Den's kitchen, finding Hermione sitting at the breakfast bar with heavy bags under her eyes, while Ron was running round the kitchen trying to apparently cook three meals at once.

And to Ginny's trained eye, not doing too badly, for Ron anyway.

"How're you feeling Hermione?" Harry said as he reflexively took control of the frying pan, while Ginny sat beside the poor girl.

"Just fine, thank you Harry." She replied, sounding the exact opposite.

"I think I have the recipe for a good morning-sickness cure upstairs," Ginny said comfortingly, rubbing the elder girl's back, "I'd be more than happy to brew you up a batch Hermione."

The frizzy-haired girl shook her head slowly. "No thanks Ginny," she said, "I'm trying to limit the amount of potions and pills I take now that I'm pregnant."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's perfectly safe 'Mione," he said, earning himself a glare from his fiancée. Ginny took over.

"If it was harmful to the baby, then they wouldn't allow people to make it. I _promise _that I'll be on my best potion-making behaviour, and you can even watch me do it if you want." This time, Hermione looked a little interested, but her instincts won out.

"No, really, thanks Ginny, but I'll be fine." she grimaced, "but first I need to go to the bathroom, excuse me..." then she ran out the room. Ginny shot Harry a compassionate look, and then shot off after her. Ron sighed and went back to his watching Harry finish off his own cooking.

"It's okay Ron, she'll get through it, and probably have notes on how to make it easier for herself the second time." Harry said, using his wand to shift the sausages around the pan.

Ron groaned, "Second time?! You think I'm going to go through this a _second_ time?" Harry, on the other hand, grinned.

"Sorry Ron, but you know what they say, the Weasley fertility is second only to that of the Weasley-bred Pygmy Puffs. And considering Fred and George sell them at about rate of 100 a month, you're really shouldn't be hoping for a small family."

Ron groaned again, covering his head with his hands. When he eventually lifted them, he was smirking however. "What about you then?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Wha-d'ya-mean." Harry said very quickly, suddenly very interested in turning over the fried eggs.

"I mean, even if you make Ginny a Potter," his eyes darkened, "which you better do," Harry gulped, "she'll still be a Weasley at heart, so you'll be having the same problem. And to be honest, I'd prefer my hormonal Hermione to a hormonal Ginny any day."

Secretly, Harry was inclined to agree, but he kept silent as the redhead in question re-entered the room.

"She'll be okay," Ginny said as she sat back at the breakfast bar, "but I think I'll go ahead and brew up some of that potion later. You never know when she might change her mind, after all."

Harry nodded, the little voice in his head mentioning something about Ginny needing it in the future, but he quashed it.

"Breakfast's ready," he said, picking the two frying pans up from the hobs and taking them over to the waiting Weasleys. They both took out their wands and started levitating food onto their plates. Harry smiled at Ginny as she filled a second plate for him.

Setting the pans down, Harry sat down on the other side of the Breakfast bar to the two redheads and drew his plate towards him.

"So," said Ron, between shoving sausages and eggs into his mouth, "You all relaxed and ready for your big game?"

Harry and Ginny's eyes met for a second, before darting apart with wide grins plastered over their faces.

"Yeh, I'd say so." Harry said, digging into his sausages before Ron could notice the exchange. "You lot coming?"

"We wouldn't miss it for the world Harry," Ginny said, smiling sweetly, "and we've even managed to blackmail Hermione into going too." Ron grunted.

"Yeh," he said, "you have no idea how much she protested on the grounds of not wanting to see you fall off that broom of yours."

Ginny giggled. "You better watch your step Harry, or she'll start up a new society called R.I.B.S."

"Ribs?" Ron said, spraying the bar with egg. Ginny waved her wand to clear up the mess before answering.

"The 'Rally for Improved Broom Safety'." Ginny said simply.

Behind her, Hermione emerged back into the kitchen. "You know, that doesn't sound like a bad idea..."

Ron groaned for the third time that morning, and the conversation continued in that vein right up until Harry had to leave.

"...you know the safety record for the Nimbus is much better than the Comet series." Ron said, absolutely appalled at Hermione's idea to put a speed limiter on the faster broom series.

"Yes, but Ron, only in the _number_ of cases. The crashed that do occur on the Nimbus brooms, especially that 2020 series, are much more serious." The girl protested in her usual organised and calm manner."I'd much rather see lots of people with bruised elbows and bloody hands than a few people with broken necks."

Ron sighed, "It's the Nimbus 2200 series Hermione, and those people who do break their necks on Nimbus' are idiots who don't know how to handle a broom properly. Harry's never broken his neck when he had one, or since he's been riding faster brooms."

"And let's hope he never does," Hermione said, glancing at Harry with a warning look in her eye, "But not everyone who gets on a broom can ride it as well as Harry, and not every Wizard who buys them has enough sense to know they shouldn't be riding them."

"So you're going to stop everyone, including Harry, riding at high speeds because a few warlocks with more Galleons than they know what to do with might injure themselves?" Ron said, his voice getting progressively higher with every word, "No, I'm sorry Hermione, it's an utterly stupid idea."

Hermione went to protest in what looked to be a very offended way, when Harry butted in. "I think, what Ron means to say is that the general Wizarding public would never stand for it. They like their Quidditch, and some people even use brooms to travel if they don't like apparating. By limiting the speed, you'd both take away one of the more interesting aspects of the sport, and lengthen some wizard's journeys by hours."

Hermione paused, thinking over what Harry had said, and Harry used this break in the argument to his advantage.

"Anyway, I've got to be off." he said, making a very obvious look at his watch. Ginny, in similar fashion, used the pause to her advantage.

"I'll walk you to the door." she said quickly, taking Harry by the hand.

"Good luck mate!" Ron shouted at the door as Harry and Ginny disappeared through it, "We'll see you after in the usual spot!"

Harry managed to perform a wave before Ginny literally dragged him into the main hallway, and to the front door.

"Trying to get rid of me or something?" Harry joked as they reached the front door at almost a run.

Ginny smirked and suddenly flattened him against the back of said door, pressing herself against him. "Not at all, I just wanted to get you on your own before you left." she said, kissing him softly.

With Harry responding in kind, the couple stayed glued together for a matter of moments before breaking apart with serene smiles on their faces.

"Stay safe today Harry," Ginny said, her demeanour changing to one of melancholy, "while I don't agree with Hermione on putting caps on speed, I don't particularly like the idea of you breaking your neck either. As the captain and Seeker, you'll be a prime target today, more-so than usual."

Harry smiled back at her, "Don't worry Gin, I'll be sure to keep near-death crashes to a minimum today."

"Don't even joke about it Harry!" Ginny responded, slightly more vehemently than Harry expected, "I love you, and after everything we've been through, I don't think I could take it if you were severely injured playing _Quidditch_."

Harry sighed and kissed his girlfriend softly on the lips. "I love you too Gin, and I _do _understand how you feel, but I think you've been listening to Hermione too much. There hasn't been a death in the game since 1783, and the last time someone was injured so severely they had to retire from the sport indefinitely was some time in the 1800s. You know much better than Hermione does, that safety in the sport has improved tenfold in the past fifty years, starting with the brooms themselves. I know there is still a danger element to the sport, but I've never been safer playing the game. I'll be fine." He looked into her eyes, seeing tears starting to form and he sighed, wiping them away with his thumb as they appeared.

"Trust me," he said, kissing her again, "I'll come home to you tonight, and you can make as much fuss over me as you like. Would you like that?"

Ginny gave a small smile, "Promise?" she said in a small voice she only ever let Harry hear. Harry grinned widely and kissed her again.

"Promise."

* * *

_**Potter's Flights Confident**_

_By Niall Broomlove_

_As we count down the mere hours before the Flights' afternoon game against the Kestrels, we're all on tenterhooks as to how Potter is going to preform in his first game as Captain. With bookies and commentators predicting great things from the boy, the pressure in the camp must be suffocating for the young Seeker._

_However, a source from inside the club told us this morning that "We all have the utmost confidence in Harry, now get out the way or I'll hex you." Another source confirmed this by doing just that, and hexing my cameraman so that his fingers bent the wrong way. However, a passer-by did give us the quote "Don't mind her, she was mauled by a cat half way through the night and is understandably tired as a result."_

_We all know why Potter became Captain, but it has come to this reporter's attention that not many Witches or Wizards know, or are even aware of the fact, that there shouldn't even be a team for Potter to Captain at all if it wasn't for a temporary law passed last summer by the Wizengamot._

_But, let us start at the beginning, back during the times when Quidditch was sweeping the wizarding world. It was at this same time that Wizards were starting to hide themselves from the increasing Muggle presence, and due to the fact that anti-muggle charms and disillusionment were only in their early stages of development, the Department of Magical Games and Sports was forced to limit the number of large Quidditch games played by freezing the amount of professional teams. In 1674, the British and Irish League was formed, and the League Cup first fought for (and won by the Chudley Cannons, if you'll believe it). Since that day, no team has left or entered into the League in Britain or Ireland, although newer teams are found on the continent._

_However, with the demise of You-Know-Who, the Ministry of Magic decided to celebrate the occasion, and charged the Department of Magical Games and Sports to come up with a way of getting the whole nation to join together in festivity. Apparently the department went through many ideas, including holding a Gobstone tournament in Glastonbury, an Exploding Snap contest in Edmonton, and even a Fanged Frisbee throwing contest in Falkirk. However, the idea that won the hearts of those involved, involved the much-loved game of Quidditch._

_Put forward by the enigmatic Billuis Bink, head of the Division for the Standardisation of Magical Sports Equipment, the proposal suggested that in light of better anti-muggle charms and a practical stalemate in the League, the 1674 law prohibiting the expansion of the League could be disbanded for the period of no-longer than a year for hitherto Amateur teams or new conglomerate teams could form and compete within the League. Bink added that, if taken advantage of, it would rise the number of League teams above the number 13, which has recently been subject to rumour as the cause to England's poor World Cup record._

_After adding a few clauses like 'The Right to Evict New Members if They're Total Crap' or the controversial 'If Team Strips of New Teams Clash With Those of the Current Teams, the New Teams Will Play Without Strips' clause, the Ministry of Magic put the proposal into effect, passing the '1999 Amendment to the 1674 League act' in March of that year. All managers of suitable amateur teams were owled, and the word was spread around the business world._

_Three teams were accepted by the Department of Magical Games and Sports, the 'Portsmouth Plumbers' an amateur side from near Southampton, the 'Arsenal Gunners' the magical branch of an already successful Muggle 'football club' (like Quidditch, but slower, involving twenty two Muggles, one ball, oh, and no flying. I won't say 'boring', but it's hard to see how Muggle stay awake during these games), and of course, the 'Norwich Flights' who were an entirely new team, with players bought from a number of already established clubs._

_Unfortunately, the Gunners had to pull out due to 'problems within the management', but on the opening game of the season, between the Catapults and Wanderers, the two new sides of the Portsmouth Plumbers and Norwich Flights were unveiled to the general public, despite the Flights having failed to procure a starting Seeker._

_Or so we thought._

_On the Flights' first match, not even the commentators knew who the young man was that had been signed by the Flights to play for them. It was only when he flew out of the tunnel that anyone, including this reporter, found out the true identity of the Flights' Seeker._

_Harry Potter._

_Mr Potter, as always, had been evasive of the press at the time, as he is to this day, but we were told, again by management, that Mr Potter had the support of the entire club. The famous quote from Mathias Thrombi at the start of the season said "If we thought he was crap, we wouldn't have hired him!"_

_And not much has changed from that day back in September, except Mr Potter has now been promoted to the rank of Captain. In light of this, we attempted to get a quote off of the manager as he made his way into the clubhouse this morning. Unfortunately, this is all we got. "This is Private Property! If I ever see you here again I'll call the MLES in!"_

_However, we did manage to catch a word with the Chairman on his way into the building. "Mr Potter has been preforming very well up to this point, and we believe he is more than capable of the new responsibilities we've endowed him with." Mr Wallace said, "I've talked with the young man in private, and I believe him to be of the very best of quality... oh, excuse me. My mobile's going off..."_

_Mr Wallace is, of course, is a Muggle, and therefore knows nothing of Quidditch, but if we accept his word as a general indication of the mood within the camp, the supporters of the Flights should be anticipating a great match, and continued success in the second half of the season._

_The starting whistle will sound at three forty seven this afternoon. A full round up will be available, along with highlights of all today's matches, in this evening's Evening Prophet.

* * *

_

He hated the snow. Really hated it.

It was cold, wet, and people insisted on throwing it around.

Luckily, when you were a wizard, there were ways round it.

A snowball whizzed towards him, send by some unruly child, but seemed to evaporate into steam before it even got close. The young man sneered and tucked his wand back into his sleeve.

'_Damn Muggles_' he thought as he turned the street corner, sending another kid who was running in the opposite direction flying. Ignoring the boy, the young man continued down the street, his black cloak whipping around him, a fresh north wind blowing in his face as he walked.

Crossing the road, the man started down an adjoining street, and then turned into a small alleyway. In it were a couple of empty rubbish bins, a snow-covered hat-stand lent against the opposite wall, and a couple of sodden cardboard boxes towards the end, a small dog nestled into one of them.

As the man stepped into the ally, the dog seemed to sniff the air as if searching for something. It looked closely at the man as he swept down and past, but didn't seem to find anything interesting as it put it's head back on it's paws and went back to sleep.

The wizard reached the very back of the L-shaped cul-de-sac and was faced with three grey brick walls. Unfazed, he took out his wand and tapped a particularly corroded brick in the wall to his left. The brick wobbled, dusty mortar falling to the snow-covered ground. Then the bricks around it started to vibrate, before long the entire wall seemed to be moving, throwing dust down like some great sand waterfall. The centre brick, the original brick, suddenly shifted back into the wall. Then, like a wave formed by a pebble in a pond, the wall shifted in and away, revealing a hidden street beyond.

Stepping into the dark street, he was immediately accosted by what looked like a Hag, selling some sort of red potion that he just knew wouldn't do what she was going to say it did.

"Hey there big boy," she said, sauntering up to him. The young man sneered at the thought that she had the idea in her head that she was attractive to him. "Wanna buy a thawing potion? Or would you like me to show you a different way to get warm?" She thrust out her tray, and her chest.

With a hand still on his wand, he fired a wordless banishing charm, sending the Hag flying into a Vampire tooth vendor. The young man made a mental note to tell a vampire friend of his to make the man a visit.

Nobody got in his way after that, and he was left unhindered to enter a shop called '_Rankin and Bettor_', a sign hanging in the window read '_Anti-Muggle artefacts of all kinds. Why not get your wife an anti-Muggle handbag? Or for the aspiring male of the family, what about the newly released 'Cane of righteousness'? Guaranteed to sent Muggles running in all directions at 30 paces._'

Strolling in, the young man nodded to the wrinkled and sour looking clerk, before slipping behind a curtain to a back room. Waiting for him was another sour looking man with, what the young man knew to be, a personality to match.

"You're late." he growled. The young man lowered his hood, letting his long blond hair to cascade down and over his shoulders.

"You're an asshole, but I don't complain." he said coolly, "Now, the Master asked to see me. You wouldn't want me to tell him I was late because you were being true to you're nature, now would you?"

The man threw him a dangerous look, but put his hand to a porcelain bust that barely resembled some famous wizard, and whispered a word. To one side of the room a tapestry rolled itself up, and the wall behind it slid aside, revealing a downward spiralling staircase.

"Get going, or this _asshole_ is going to have the pleasure of seeing your ass being detached from your anus." the man sneered.

Ignoring the comment, the young man quickly made his way to and down the stairs, emerging at the bottom into a kind of lushly furnished sitting room. There was no one waiting, so he moved to a door on the right hand side of the room and knocked.

"Come." a commanding voice said from inside the room. Twisting the door handle, the young man let himself into the room.

It was a carnivorous space, the ceiling charmed to seem much higher than it actually was. The walls were panelled with a dark wood, and decorated with expensive and rare original magical paintings, including a couple of Da Vinci's. In similar fashion, the centrepiece of the room, the desk, was one of the largest and grandest that Galleons could buy. Sitting behind it however, was a man worth more than the entire wealth of the room put together.

_Markus DeBerrow_. A multi-millionaire, and a king amongst the underworld of Europe. He'd made his money by marrying the daughter of a rich wizarding Mafia Don. By doing so, he became one of wizarding Italy's most prolific business men, expanding outwards into the rest of Europe, and eventually Britain.

"Ahh, our newest member." The man said, although his eyes never left the parchment he was writing on. "Don't worry about your tardiness, it's been noted down, but as long as you never do it again, we won't have a problem."

The young man went to make an excuse, but thought better of it when DeBerrow looked up at him.

"Good." DeBerrow said, "I don't like back-chat, and I certainly don't want to have to punish someone with as much potential as you for it." Tapping the parchment with his finger, DeBerrow leant back in his chair.

"I have an assignment for you," he said, his eyes twinkling in a manner the young man had come to expect from only one other. He uncontentiously fidgeted in his chair. "Call it a test if you will, of your skills."

"What would you have me do Master?" the young man said, bowing his head.

DeBerrow smiled. "As you know, there have been a few new editions to the Quidditch world." he said, "One of them in particular, has come to my attention as being against our particular..._interests_." With a flick of his wand, the parchment he'd been writing flew into the young man's hands. "On there you will see the name of the _Muggle_ investor of the Norwich Fights. I want you to look into him, tail him, _destroy him_."

The young man flicked a look down at the parchment, where the name _Liam Wallace _was written.

"I don't want you to kill him... that wouldn't send the right message. I want you to destroy him financially, emotionally, and totally. Use your imagination, go wild, just make sure he knows he's not welcome in our world."

"Yes, Master." the young man said, bowing his head, "It will be done." With that, he excused himself from the room with a deep bow.

"Yes," DeBarrow said with a smile, "I believe you may just do it. I simply hope you don't get distracted with revenge, the last of the Malfoys."

* * *

Harry sighed. It had already been a long day, and the match had yet to come. 

They'd arrived at the Exmoor stadium a few hours ago using secure portkey, and they'd already been out for a warm up.

Of course, with the current weather, Harry and the rest of the team felt like it had done the exact opposite. At least, as Robert had pointed out, the warm down would actually be an accurate description of the activity when they came to it.

Naturally, Mathias' insistence for a tactics meeting had been a waste of time. It was too late for a change in tactics, and the team had been briefed as much as they could stand.

And, to be honest, so had Harry.

"Don't tell me," Ez said, noticing Harry as he entered the changing room, "we've got another tactics meeting to go to?" Both she and Robin laughed bitterly at the thought.

Harry smiled, "Thankfully, I think even Mathias has gotten bored of them now." he said, sitting down at his locker and leaning against it wearily. "We've got a few minutes before we have to be out there. Everyone make sure you preform heating charms, or you'll freeze like I did this morning."

"_You _freezed!?" Robert said incredulously, "I was so cold I was afraid my privates were going to fall off!"

"And vat a shame zat vould be for all your lady friends if zat vere to happen..." Timothei said with a smirk.

"They're a very important part of my life!" the chaser said defensively.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Vould zat be the ladies? Or your privates?" The changing room erupted in laughter as Rob shrugged, obviously torn over the issue.

Harry laughed along with his team as the topics turned to Rob's recent conquests. It was good to laugh, he mused, it got out all the nervous energy one tended to get before a match, and bonded the team at the same time, even if the guys couldn't see the girls (they changed behind a screen that divided the room in half). As the conversation started to turn more his way, Harry quickly decided it was time for them to head out.

"Yeh, Harry. What did happen to that redhead we saw you with the other day?" Luci asked, and although he couldn't see her, he could _hear _her narrowing her eyes at him.

"Who?" he said, re-casting a warming charm to his boots and gloves, "when exactly was this? I talk to a lot of redheads." He waggled his eyebrows at Tomas, who winked back in a very conspicuous way.

"Oh really?" came the voice, and then the body, of Ez as she rounded the screen. Luckily, everyone had changed at this point, although Rob looked a little disappointed at this. "I never knew you were such a ladies man... You certainly weren't at Hogwarts."

Harry stood, putting his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a confident pose, "Well, there are a lot of things about me that may surprise you, Ez." he smiled at her before looking at his watch. "But anyway, it's time for us to get out there."

Harry reached inside his locker, taking hold of his Lightningbolt and extracting it. "You all know what you're doing, so lets go and show the those people out there what they want to see!"

A small cheer erupted, and the players made their exit by a second door to the room. However, not before Robin called out; "You couldn't catch the Snitch quickly and get this over with could you?"

Harry cuffed him on the shoulder. "No, my friend," he sighed, "It's the rule of first games... they're destined to go on for twice as long as they should, and as this is both my first game as captain, and your first as a permanent starter, this one is destined to go on for at least, what, two days?" he said, looking around at his team for an opinion. As usual, Rob was only to eager to oblige.

"Na," he said, using his Comet 361 to scratch his chin, "more like three I'd say, what with the two of you."

Ez's eyes lit up. "That sounds like a bet big boy!" she said, starting the now traditional pre-game wager, "I'll put 40 Galleons on a two-day, like Harry said, any other bets?"

"And so it starts..." Harry whispered to Robin as the rest of the team started thrusting slips of paper at Ez. The boy smiled, before shoving his own paper at the chaser.

"What?" he said, "if it's going to be a long game, I might as well make some money out of it."

Harry sighed and rubbed his head.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

_And there you have it, another chapter done and dusted. **Review** and be merry!_

**_Have a good 2007!_**

_Chris a.k.a. **Fensta**_


	3. Norwich Flights Vs Kenmare Kestrels

_Hello and welcome, to the latest installment of our favorite Seeker's progress through the world of Club Quidditch. This edition is simply the game, as I sence this is all I can really cope with at the moment. So, read, enjoy, and review to tell me what you think._

_Let me just tell you, remember when JKR said it was hard to make Quidditch matches interesting once you've written a few of them (and hence, why they probably won't be a feature of book 7)? Well, I totally agree with her lol. You have no idea how challenging it is. However, I have done my best, and I shall continue to do so as long as this story keeps momentum._

_So here it is! You're first Club match of your lives:_

_**"The Norwich Flights Vs. The Kenmare Kestrels"**_

* * *

"...so, just remember to keep it fast and low. The Kestrels are very good at tricky aerial manoeuvres, but they need space to pull them off. Force them to the grass and their attacks should fall apart. Got it?" Harry said, his Lightningbolt slung casually over his shoulder. "And Luce, I know we've been over this, but I need you to stick to Carr like a bad case of Dragon Pox."

"Just ten times more pretty." came the voice of Tomas from behind the pair.

Harry smirked, "I'll be sure to tell Marie that you think that, next time I see her." he said, referring to the Keeper's wife. The Frenchman barked a laugh before turning back to Robert, to whom he had been talking to before hand.

"_Attention, err, Attention!_" a nervous voice said, reverberating magically around the Pitch's _'Number 2'_ antechamber,"_Will all players please make their way onto the Field._" it said, before changing to an older and more forceful voice as the microphone (or wand, in this case) was 'passed' to another person. "_Get 'yer arses onto that field!_" it said, "_Some of us would like to get home sometime today!_"

Harry chuckled to himself and shook his head. So it was Hughes and Jordie commentating this match. Hopefully they'd get on better this time... Somehow Harry doubted it.

"You heard the man," Harry said, taking his broom of his shoulder and mounting it. "It's time to fly!"

A small whoop went through the team as they all followed their captain's example. With a quick nod, Robert lead the team out the small room and onto the pitch, to the roar of the crowd and the scrutiny of the commentators. From the moment the Chaser's Maroon Quidditch robes cleared the door, a huge explosion of noise greeted the players.

As Luci, and then Ez followed their senior Chaser out the room, Harry had just enough time to smile encouragingly at Robin (who looked rather queasy) before the Beater followed out Timothei. Then, as Tomas flew out the room to a rapturous applause from his many fans, Harry leant forward on his broom, carefully steering it out the door, and onto the pitch.

The world seemed to explode with light and sound, as the artificial lighting, coupled with tens of thousands of cameras, went off around the stadium to a chorus of screaming and stomping. Harry could just make out the commentators having their first argument of the match, but hearing individual words was next to impossible with the noise the fans were making. Regaining his bearings, Harry remembered to smile as he soared round the eastern stand, waving to a very Maroon coloured section. He could just make out two redheads and a bushy brunette amongst the supporters. Harry winked at the female carrot-top as their eyes caught for a millisecond.

As the Flights finished their pre-victory lap, and settled in the air over their half, the noise in the stadium lowered a little, enough for the commentators to become audible again.

"_Now that we've all agreed that Potter's best performance was against the Magpies, and NOT against Puddlemere,_" Kenny Hughes -the world's most obnoxious commentator- said smugly, "_we can welcome out Potter's team's competitors tonight; the KENMARE KESTRELS!_"

At this point, the '_Number One_' antechamber burst open it's doors, and the first emerald green player shot out. The other commentator, the more timid 'Tony Jordie', took over.

"_The Kestrels, on the back of a three match winning streak, let's welcome; Chasers _DuffMullet_, and _Carr_. Beaters _O'Brian_ and _Connolly_. Captain and Keeper _Finnegan_. And finally, Seeker_ Lynch"

Once again, the crowd erupted, but in a totally different way. The Kestrels' supporters were famed all over the world for their unique way of supporting their team – with harps. So instead of screaming and cheering (although there was a little of this for the young and hansom Mika O'Brian), the ground erupted with melodic and powerful waves of music. As if reacting to it, the Kestrels' mascots, the Irish national team's mascots in fact, created a light show in shimmering gold.

Harry leant back on his broom and gave an appreciative whistle. "We've got to teach our mascots to do something like that..." he said absently. He almost fell of his broom when Timothei answered him.

"Eazier zan making da supporters learn da trombone, dah?"

Harry laughed, "Dah, my friend. Very 'dah'."

By this time, the Kestrels had finished their lap, and were facing off against the Flights. Harry sighed and rocked forward on his broom, floating it down to where the referee, a small man named Lucas Frenchirch, was waiting with the balls to start the match. Inwardly, Harry groaned. Frenchirch was one of those refs who liked following the rules to the letter, except the ones about 'playing on' or 'taking advantage', which he mainly ignored.

"Now," said Frenchirch, "I want a nice clean game you two!" he looked between the two captains with a look clearly daring them to break the rules. "Shake hands and return to your positions."

Harry glided forward a meter and grasped Darius Finnegan's outstretched hand. Finnegan, a distant relation of Seamus Finnegan, was Ireland's reserve Keeper and, although getting on in years now, was still a commanding presence on the pitch.

And to say his handshake was crippling would have been an insult to the man.

Nursing his hand, Harry returned to his position, just behind the front Chaser -Robert-, and watched as Frenchirch released first the Snitch (which disappeared within seconds), the Bludgers, and lastly the Quaffle.

Naturally, the entire stadium erupted in a maelstrom of colours, sounds and grunting Beaters.

Harry sped off down the pitch, watching as Rob fought with the Kestrels Rory Carr for the Quaffle. Rob eventually won, and suddenly the Chasers were off down the pitch, both Bludgers snarling their way towards the pack.

"_And it's Macclesfield, Porter, back to Macclesfield..._" Jordie said as Rob and Luci passed the Quaffle back and forth between challenges, "_...but O'Brian sends in a Bludger that almost takes Macker's head off, and Duff recovers the Quaffle._"

Harry frowned as he had to swerve to avoid the Kestrel, before swirving once more to avoid a rather nastily swerving Bludger aimed at the Chaser, probably one of Robin's.

Going away from the Chasers, Harry rocketed round the Kestrel posts, skimming just above the spectators as he slid his backside round the turn. Deciding to fly upwards, Harry cut the corner short, diving inside the last post, and almost unseating Finnegan in the process as he came up from beneath him.

Looking about, Harry saw no sign of the Snitch in the brightly lit arena. Harry didn't particularly like night games, for this precise reason. While the artificial light didn't come from any particular source, the entire stadium seemed to simply _glow_, making picking out a tiny little shimmering ball extremely difficult. Luck had spared Harry the bother of rain, but under these bright conditions, it hardly mattered.

Shooting a glance over at his opposite number, Harry was heartened to see even Ireland's best was having a hard time seeing anything, as Lynch peered into the stadium with a hand shielding his eyes as if from the sun.

"_...it's Duff, Mullet, back to Duf... No! Great Bludger by Markov, and a sublime interception by Robinson, and the Flights are counter attacking!_" Hughes said,

"_You know, for a new team, they're pretty good._" replied Jordie.

Hughes, naturally, had something to say about this. "_Pretty good!? Let me tell you, when the Falcons played Puddlem..._"

Harry sighed and tuned out the commentators to watch the action. Ez still had the Quaffle, but one of the opposing Chasers, Mullet – another Ireland international, was hot on her tail, and she was forced to pass. Luckily, Rob was right on her left wing, but no sooner did he have the ball than a Bludger came at him from nowhere. Ducking, the Chaser dropped the ball to Luce as she flew under him, swerving to avoided Robin who was in hot pursuit of the runaway Bludger.

They'd hit about halfway down the field, and seeing as the Snitch didn't seem to want to make an appearance, Harry leant forward and started a steady decent towards the pack of players.

Robin smiled as he ushered a Bludger away from Harry and into the path of Carr as he was about to make an attempted interception, but Harry was too busy watching the action to really acknowledge the Beater.

Ez had the ball back, although she was surrounded on both sides by Kestrel players, one below, preventing her from passing the ball, but not going for a grab either. Harry, unfortunately, knew exactly what they were going to do.

It was called a Tipple Trap, a defensive move designed to not only get the Quaffle back, but guarantee a Bludger hit. The three defending Chasers surround the Quaffle carrying Chaser and prevent them from moving far, or get the Quaffle away. Then they simply wait for one of their Beaters to send a Bludger into the trapped Chaser. Only an experienced player would be able to spot it in time to do anything about it, and unfortunately, Ez was concentrating too much on getting her Quaffle away to notice.

Gritting his teeth, Harry sped off. Perhaps he couldn't carry the Quaffle, or even touch any of the opposing players, but he could do his best to help. And he had a plan.

Glancing up, he saw the opposing Beater, O'Brian, send a Bludger at the defenceless Chaser. Swearing, Harry flattened himself on his broom, forcing it to accelerate sharply, despite it's already high speed. There was a shriek, as there was every time a Seeker moved fast in a stadium, but Harry ignored it.

Harry was comming at the group of green-clad players from the front and, fixing himself a target of the leftmost Chaser, Harry narrowed his eyes and sharply changed direction into the Chaser's path. Flicking his eyes to the incoming Bludger, Harry estimated he had about two and a half, no, make it two seconds to pull this off. Flicking his eyes back to Dina Duff's face, he saw her own eyes flick to his incoming figure. He also saw them widen ever so slightly, and all of a sudden, Harry knew this plan could work.

Grinning, Harry reached out a hand to the side, making a fist with his hand. This time he saw Duff's eyes darken slightly in fear, and Harry's grin turned into something much more dark as he closed in on his mark.

One and a half seconds, Harry urged his broom to go even faster, one second, Harry locked eyes with Duff, half a second, Harry pulled back his fist as if to punch...

The entire incident was over with a scream and a crunch as Harry smashed into the oncoming group of Chasers, just as the Bludger raced into the back.

Harry swerved, his clenched hand going back to his stick as he braked sharply. Meanwhile, Duff had swerved wildly out of the way of the incoming Harry, leaving Ez the space she needed to move and throw a swift pass to Rob. The two other Kestrel Chasers didn't fare very well at all, as Mullet, who saw what Harry was doing, swerved out of the way of the now target-less Blugder, she left the last Chaser alone in it's path.

Rory Carr was a good chaser, if a little young and inexperienced at this level. His poor reading of the game was something he was trying to work on, but it was something he was finding heavy weather. Bludgers, while easy to dodge when coming front on, tended to catch him out when they came from the rear. Unfortunately, that's exactly what this one did.

With the sound of splintering wood, Carr was thrown from what remained of his broom, and started cartwheeling towards the ground. Within seconds, he was caught by his Beaters, but that was all the time that Rob needed to take an uncontested shot at the goals, and score the first goal of the game.

Rob whooped and winked at Harry as they met behind the posts, pausing the game for Carr to get out a replacement broom.

"Nice move there kid." Rob said, panting slightly. Harry simply smiled back, out of breath himself.

"S'nothing," he said, "I've always wanted to try that move, never thought it would actually work..."

The veteran Chaser smirked, "If you can do it properly, the Transylvanian Tackle works _every_ time." he said, nodding at Carr as he took off into the air once more. "Done wrong, and you can break every bone in your arm, and have to answer to the DoMGS." He clapped Harry on the shoulder as he passed him to rejoin the team, "Just make sure you do it right."

Harry gave a small laugh. "Sure."

* * *

Draco Malfoy sneered as the crowd around him cheered as the Flights scored their first goal. He narrowed his eyes at one of the celebrating crimson-clad players in particular.

Potter.

Who knew he was good enough to play at this level? Sure he'd been lucky a few times during Hogwarts, but at club level there was no such thing as luck.

Except bad luck...

Draco's sneer turned into a small smile as the cogs in his head started turning.

Taking out his wand, Draco stood and made his way to the isle, then up it. As he reached the top, his eyes caught sight of the Seeker as he rose up high to search for the Snitch.

With a barked laugh, and a swish of robes, Draco Malfoy disappeared into the stadium building, never to return to the stands that match.

* * *

"_... and at 130 – 200 to the Kestrels, you wonder where that Snitch is when the Flight's need it._"

Harry heard the commentators, but didn't pay much attention as he peered down the pitch. Racing round his own goalposts he put on a spurt of speed as a Bludger flew at him, two seconds later, a very tired looking Timothei sped past him in pursuit.

They'd been playing for a good five hours now, and the going had been slow for both teams. While either side had had a good deal of the Quaffle, both teams seemed to be excelling in defence, and over sixty percent of the attacks of either side weren't even making it to the Keepers. The Keepers themselves were having a hard day in any case, as breakaway attacks made it past the defences every few minutes.

All the players were starting to tire, and even the Kestrels' harp-playing supporters seemed to have lost the energy to play, although there was still more than enough noise from the stands. The only things on the pitch that seemed to still have much energy left were the Bludgers, that were making more hits every minute on the tired players, and the Snitch that, while spotted a few times, seemed to disappear as either one of the Seekers drew near.

If that wasn't enough, the Flights had seen a dramatic drop in performance over the past hour, letting the score slip from a respectable 120 – 140, to the dismal score that now affronted them. At this rate, within another hour not even the Snitch would win the game for them.

Harry watched as the Kestrels had yet another shot on goal, this one saved and held by Tomas. Waving down the ref, Harry signalled for a time out.

With the whistle blown, Harry converged on his tired team somewhere in the vicinity of their scoring area.

"Harry, we're being killed out here. Any chance of catching that Snitch soon?" Ez said, leaning heavily on the front of her broom.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "The first chance I get Ez, I swear I'll take. Until that time, you guys need to pull it together." a groan went up from the team.

"Come on guys," Harry said in a pleading tone, "you've all played extremely well for the entire match, except in the past half an hour where we've conceded more goals than we did in the entire hour before. I know it's getting hard, but honestly, the only difference between us and them at the moment is that they know they've got you beaten. They're hurting just as bad, but by scoring, they're keeping their moral up.

"We have the Quaffle now, so let's go out there and use this time-out to our advantage. If we can score again, they'll start to feel just as tired as you, and if they feel just as bad as you do now, and you can get to where they are now, we've got this game in the bag." There were a few determined nods. Harry turned to his Keeper. "What d'you think Tomas?"

The Keeper nodded his head in what could be construed as resolution. "I think you're right. They've been playing hard, but I think the team is starting to feel like the underdogs. If we can shake that off, and get back to scoring now and again, we'll stand a much better chance of surviving this match."

Harry gave the Frenchman a small smile, "I was hoping for something more inspiring that 'survive', but I'll take what I can get. Right, Beaters, I think you need to concentrate more on Mullet. She's fast, and key to their counter attack. Keep her occupied, and things should ease up for the Chasers. Chasers, remember to force them low to the ground. Luce, you're doing an amazing job in midfield at the moment, but I'd like you to concentrate on defence for a while. Stop them breaking away, and it'll give Tomas a better chance to save."

The Chaser nodded her head resolutely just as Frenchirch's whistle signalled for the end of the time-out.

"Right, let's go get a goal! Try the Nightshade Attack Robert, if ever we needed a boost now, this is it."

As the team flew away, the veteran Chaser smiled at his captain, before yelling; "One goal, coming up!"

The next five minutes showed a marked improvement for the Flights, with two goals bringing the score to 150 – 200, and Robert's Nightshade Attack totally blind-siding the Kestrel defence, as it was supposed to do.

The Snitch, however, was less visible. Harry growled to himself as he crossed diagonally through the pack of Chasers in his search, 'inadvertently' blocking off a Kestrel Chaser from a tackling attempt. He turned skyward, soaring high as the roar of the crowd indicated another score from the Flights. He really was good at the motivational crap...

Turning back to the pitch, Harry spied his opposite number floating nearby, looking down at the match with narrowed eyes. Harry glided over.

"Nice evening!" he shouted, getting his voice across over the wind. The Irish Seeker looked up and raised an eyebrow, before turning his attention back to his search. Harry decided to try again.

"It's a shame about the World Cup! I thought you played really well that day!" this time Lynch looked up with both eyebrows raised.

"Oh really?!" he shouted back, "You were there, were ya?!"

Harry smirked, "Top Box! Arthur Weasley got me tickets! I've gotta say, it's great seeing those leprechauns again!" he indicated to where the Kestrels' mascots were once again starting their own little Mexican wave – in gold coins of course. The Irishman laughed.

"I dunno anyone who doesn'!" he said, before glancing back down at the pitch as the Kestrels scored. He turned back to Harry.

"Seen the Snitch recently?!" he shouted, looking hopeful. Harry laughed as he shook his head in responce.

"It's been a while! Although I've noticed it seems to like the Kestrel end of the stadium today!" Harry shouted back, indicating to the Kestrel goalposts, where Rob's latest shot was being saved by Finnegan. The other Seeker turned to look as the crescendo of noise hit the two.

Then suddenly, there it was.

Floating lazily around one of Finnegan's ankles.

Lynch and Harry looked at each other with something paramount to shock on their faces, before it dawned on them that they should be chasing after the ball.

Within seconds, both were flat on their brooms, flying towards the ground at an alarming rate. Indeed, the look on Finnegan's face as he realised the two were heading straight for him was enough for him to drop the Quaffle in shock. That was enough for a quick handed Luce, who easily put it through the leftmost hoop.

However, no one noticed as the scoreboard clicked ten extra points up for the Flights, as the two Seekers had finally reached the seemingly paralysed Keeper. Luckily for him, the Snitch had moved on, and the Seekers flew under him, their robes whipping at his feet as they passed.

Both turned sharply, Lynch slightly more as they followed the Snitch's progress down across the grass of the stadium. Harry's longer curve, however, was much better at keeping the speed, and he'd soon overtaken the Irish Seeker in the race for the golden ball as it now raced down the pitch, only centimetres from the tips of the grass.

However, the Snitch wasn't known for it's going in straight lines, and it suddenly caught both Seekers out by suddenly stopping in mid air. Harry, who had been closest, over shot his grab for the ball, and Lynch, who had been too high to make a grab, made a sudden roll in the air.

The Snitch took off again, in the opposite direction, and suddenly the roles were reversed, as Harry became the one catching up. Luckily, his customised Lightnighbolt was the fastest model of broom in existence (despite Nimbus' claims to the contrary) and he was soon back in contention as the two Seekers rounded the Kestrel posts once more.

Cutting the corner, Harry managed to get alongside Lynch as he came within grabbing distance. All manner of previous niceness aside, the two started smacking each other's hands out the way in their attempts at the ball. Eventually, the ball took a sudden acceleration in the 'up' direction, and the two Seekers broke apart to preform rolls into a vertical flight position.

It was Harry who got away fastest this time, and this time there was no way back for Lynch as Harry gained on the ball every second. Or, almost no way back for the Irishman.

As Harry finally reached out for the Snitch, a very recognisable cry went up from Luce that made Harry look up from the Snitch just long enough too see a Bludger coming straight at his face. Slightly shocked at the sight, Harry froze, and just as he knew he'd be feeling his nose break, an almighty crash shocked through his senses as a second Bludger came out of nowhere to knock the first away.

Regaining his composure, Harry easily reached out and grasped hold of the Snitch in front of him.

And suddenly, it was over...

"_...the Flights win! Potter has the Snitch!_" Jordie was saying in the commentary box, before his partner took over.

"_The game ends in an emphatic 320 – 210 win for the Flights. Never in all my times have I seen a Bludger like that, and never from a Rookie Beater! But the points stand, it's the Kenmare Kestrels 210, Norwich Flights 320!_"

"You did it!" a cry came from behind him as Ez kept up her reputation as the second fastest player on the team by crashing into him first. "I knew you would! But what a Bludger! Did you see it!?"

Harry laughed a response as Ez started a blow by blow account of his Snitch capture, that was, until Robin arrived at the mid-air huddle.

"Oh Merlin! Boy, what _did_ you eat for breakfast?!" Ez said, pointing her finger accusingly at the young Beater. "Coz I want some!" Harry smiled serenely at the sight of the young man being flooded with praise, remembering when it was him that looked that embarrassed. Winking at the boy, Harry backed out of the huddle, and set off across the pitch to find the opposing captain.

However, he found Lynch first.

"Hey, great flying today." Harry said, able to speak rather than shout now that they weren't up in the high winds. "You had me working for that Snitch at every turn." Lynch looked up a little dejectedly.

"Yeh, but it's nothing like actually catching the Snitch." he said, eyeing the little ball that was still flapping in Harry's hand. "But you deserve it for staring down that Bludger, talk about committing to the catch."

Harry allowed himself a small smile, "I don't think my convictions had anything to do with it," he said, "it was more along the lines of 'too scared to move'." This seemed to cheer the other Seeker up a little. "I was just lucky that I have Robin on my team, or I would have been the second Captain the Flights would have lost through injury in two games."

The other Seeker smiled and shook his head, "Na, no chance. Reckon there's some deity looking down on you, you can't be stopped. If You-Know-Who couldn't, there's damn sure no Bludger to the head would." Harry smiled at the comment, albeit uncomfortably. "Say, you mention you knew the Weasleys?" he said as he went to turn away.

"Yeh, my best friend is one of them." Harry said, wisely leaving out that he was dating another.

"Well, get a message to Charlie for me." Lynch said with a crooked smile. "Used to play against him at Hogwarts." he explained, "Tell him to get off his fat, lazy, Dragon babysitting arse, and Floo me." he gave Harry a strange look before floating away, but not before shouting something over his shoulder.

"If I'm going to beat you, I need to train with the best!"

Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly, but managed to stop himself beaming too much as he made his way over to the Kestrels' captain. Had Charlie Weasley really been that good? They said he could have played for England, perhaps he _was_ that good. Harry made a mental note to ask Ginny after the match...

Assuming they talked much, that is.

Clearing his mind from such thoughts, Harry sighed once more.

Now came the hard part... talking with the opposition captain as if they hadn't just fought for the last five and a half hours, and then tackle the press.

Harry grimaced, his earlier mood suddenly evaporating. Yes... being the captain really was a _great_ job!

* * *

_Yay! a Victory! Well, you didn't think I'd let Harry loose his first match as Captain, did you? Well, I spose I could have, but half of you would never talk to me again. However, if you think I'll never let Harry loose... oh how little you know about me!_

_Till next time!_

_Chris aka Fensta_


	4. Witch Weekly Number One

Hey there everybody! I'm terribly sorry for the wait. I didn't actually realise that it had been so long since I last updated, which isn't an excuse, but at least now I've now found somewhere that I can write in comfort at uni. It's the bar I work at, so it's a little sad, but at least I can have a good chat at the same time. However, the staff do keep trying to read over my shoulder, so if any of you are reading this now, shame on you!

Everyone else has to wait for me to edit it all together, and so should you. But to be honest, before I do edit it, it's likely to melt your eyes into the back of your head with the terribleness of it all. (See! I deliberately didn't edit that extremely poorly constructed sentence to show you what I mean!)

Also, a tip for the writers among you that go to university like me; I've found that Fluid Mechanics Tutorial lectures are great for writing chapter plans in. Really! I wrote the plans for the next two chapters, then edited them, then edited them again, until they vaguely resembled the plot-line I was going for. Admittedly, I did get a few odd looks from the people either side of me, but that's to be expected when a person my age starts writing Harry Potter fanfiction. Oh, and it's not exactly on the same page as Fluid Mechanics either.

Anyway, here's the next chapter, and I hope I don't insult my female readers with this terrible attempt at 'Witch Weekly' magazine.

Sorry in advance.

Chris

* * *

_**

* * *

**_

Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor: Christmas 1999

_**By: Augusta Moore**_

_Yes Witches and Wenches, it's that time of year again! That magical period where we sit about in our warmest clothing, curl up in front of our fires, and learn about who we should be setting our sights on for the coming year._

_And this time, the selection of eligible bachelors has some exciting names that should keep even the most Scrooge-like witches happy with dreams of happier times to come._

_In this article, I'll take you on a whistle-stop tour of the top five eligible bachelors, eventually finishing with the revelation of our number one of 1999. Hold onto your nightgowns ladies, this is going to be one hell of a ride._

_Coming in at Number Five; an Ecuadorian import into the British Isles, and the highest ranked of any foreigner in our charts, even topping the three-times top-ranked Frenchman that is Daniel Devain. This year's number five is none other than the singing sorcerer; _Raúl Rodriguez

_Raúl, having come over from Ecuador in 1996, has always been a top ranker in this list, but never has he broken into the top five, or even ten. This year, however, a combination of his new record deal with '_Bewitched Sounds'_ (earning himself a cool two-hundred-thousand Galleons), and his newly released hit single _'My Sunkissed Señorita in Cyan'_, that reached number one over a month ago and still hovers imperiously over Cellina Warbeck's recent single _'Love at the bottom of my Goblet'_, he's well earned his place in this elite list of wizards._

_With his personal fortune escalating by the day, and a tour of the UK and Europe on the cards, Raúl is a very hot prospect for the coming year._

_Moving onwards and upwards, this year's Number Four is a local boy. Just down the road from our offices here at '_Witch Weekly_', this young businessman from Fulham is both Charismatic and Hansom._

_That's right ladies, at number four, we have the charming; _Billy Tallon

_Having started up his own business three years ago, at his graduation from Glasgow's Institute of Magical and Metaphysical Excellence (GIMME), Billy fought his way to the top of the business world with his imaginative use of the Muggle trading market. A style taken from his mentor; the immensely successful owner of the Norwich Flights; Liam Wallace (who's non-inclusion in this list is only due to his having a wife of fifteen years, despite his status as a Muggle)._

_Billy's company, the 'Tallon Trading Company' (recognised in both the Magical and Muggle markets) is set to double in size in the next few years, and those amongst you that follow the business world will know what sort of revenue this will bring in for the lad._

_His love life, as we all know, has been filled with tragedy, after his girlfriend of four years ran off with one of his main competitors (the filthy slag). That was two years ago now, and we have been told that Billy is once again looking for a female companion._

_Go get him girls!_

_In at Number Three is the first of two Quidditch players that made it into the top five this year. Yes yes, I know what you're all saying, 'why aren't there more Quidditch stars in this list', and the answer is that when you play a game with two balls specifically designed to smack your face in, it tends to take it's toll._

_However, with this year's number three, the 'broken nose look' has worked it's magic, turning this pointy-nosed Chaser (last year placed 55th) into a manly and testosterone filled star, with a body to match. Yes ladies, it's Puddlemore United's answer to Ludo Bagman; _Darren Raymond

_Now, Darren made his début into professional Quidditch six years ago, as a reserve Beater for the Tornadoes, but made his name in his move to United in the summer of 1994. His skill with the Quaffle was finally recognised in that year, when he was forced to play in place of the injured Chaser; Marcus Tamora. Since that game, he's became one of their staring Chasers, and one of their highest paid stars (let's face it ladies, this is all about money and looks – there's no denying it)._

_His impromptu nose-job happened early this season against the Falmoth Falcons, when a stray Bludger happened to catapult into a blind-sided Raymond. The medics at the game quickly stemmed the bleeding, but were powerless (or unwilling) to stop the nose re-forming into the image of beauty we see today. Darren himself has been quoted as saying _'I love my new nose, I'll be forever thankful to the medi-witches for not changing it back.'

_Darren's next game, against the Harpies in January, is already sold out, but '_Witch Weekly_' has come by a pair of tickets, and a competition will be appearing in next month's edition (published on the 24th of December this year, you lucky people) where the prize will include meeting all of the players. So, if you want a piece of this Quidditch legend, you know which publication to ask Santa for!_

_At Number Two, we have one of the UK's most well known authors and (with the disappearance of Lockhart seven years ago) quite possibly the most _attractive_ author of the age._

_Welcome back to the top five; _Patrick Wiseman

_His last book '_The Difference Between Me and You is That I'm Gorgeous_' was a hit not only in the UK, but in Europe and America, selling over two million copies worldwide (that's almost one book for every four of wizarding kind). It's earned him international acclaim, and international money, being the sole British artist to make over half of his income in the UWSA._

_Patrick was recently reunited with his birth mother, after a life in care homes and eventual adoption into the Trent family. This happy time in his life was shattered, however, with the death of his beloved dog 'S_kippy_'. He reports that his next book, an autobiography on his childhood, will be dedicated to his much-loved pooch._

_On a happier subject, Patrick has featured in the past seven 'Most charming smile' shortlists, and eventually worked out the winner this year, after a picture of him with Skippy was released on the god's death. He was also voted the wizard most housewives wish they'd gone to school with in early March, after reports of his home-schooling were revealed by the press._

_Still, despite all these hardships, Patrick is still our second most eligible bachelor, and let me tell you, I don't think even he'll complain being second to the person we've got at number one._

_And so, finally, at Top Position this year, we have the second Quidditch player, and the boy a nation -nay- the entire wizarding world owes a debt to._

_It's the one, the only; _Harry Potter

_Unsurprising? Perhaps, but after the bad press of this time last year (if you'll remember, he'd dropped to 7th back then) we thought that perhaps the reign of the boy-wonder had finally come to a close._

_But no. Just look at where he is now! The captain of a professional Quidditch team, one of the richest wizards in the world after the international community paid out the bounty money on Lord Voldemort's head, and possibly most surprisingly, _still single

_But that's not for the lack of trying by some of our more adventurous readers. There have been numerous letters, floo calls, and people even banging on our office door, all demanding we tell them where the Chosen One lives. I can only tell people that, once again, we have no idea where Harry Potter lives, and perhaps this makes his allure even more potent._

_There's no hiding his major achievements, and by the same token, there's no need for me to spell them out for you, but the one achievement we all know he hasn't achieved, is lasting love._

_That's not to say he hasn't had relationships. Hermione Granger (deceiving), Cho Chang (disastrous) and Ginevra Weasley ('hero worshipper') are the ones we know about, but some experts suggest that there may be many more since the end of his Hogwarts days._

_The well known and self-styled 'wireless love doctor', Dr Fillip Goodlove, who appears daily on the WWN between the hours of seven and nine, has openly speculated that the young man is the victim of the 'fast love syndrome', where the female figure is only seen for it's sexual connotations. He surmises that to break Harry out of this downward spiral, he needs to get himself involved on a deeper level._

_So girls, not only is Harry a perfect gentleman, the bravest soul in the land, and one of our hottest Quidditch stars; he also needs our help!_

_I hope that little run-down helps you make a few new years resolutions. I think I already know who I'm going to be aiming for ;)

* * *

_

Ron ducked and rolled, a stunner skimming his robes but leaving him untouched. Coming out of the roll on his feet, he rounded his wand on his attacker, firing off a number of wordless '_Stupefy's_. They all missed as his opponent dived to the side, but Ron smiled as he saw the man land awkwardly on his arm. After that, it was easy to get a shot on target.

"Ok Ron, good work." A bored looking Auror named Atkins called, reviving the fallen man with a flick of his wand. The trainee blinked a few times before cradling his elbow with a grimace. Atkins sighed and walked over to the man, announcing loudly that the elbow was broken.

"You'll need to get to the Hospital Wing," he said, conjuring a splint and sling around the arm. "I dare say you both know where it is by now." he looked at Ron, indicating that he should be the one to take his comrade. Nodding, Ron led the man out the doors to one side of the training rink.

"Why do these things always happen to me?" the man said, looking down at his arm with an air of despair. Beside him, Ron snorted.

"That's easy!" he said, "You throw yourself all over the place without thinking." Ron received a particularly sour look from his training partner.

"So do you," he replied, "but I never see _you_ coming away with broken bones."

Ron smirked. "That's because I'm a Weasley." he said simply, "Your body learns to adapt to taking knocks when you live with my brothers."

"Of course," the man said, "your brothers have that store in Diagon Ally. I bet they used to test out all their products on you."

"Used to?!" Ron said incredulously, "What makes you think they ever stopped? Being an Auror only makes the challenge of 'testing' their products on me more enjoyable in their eyes."

The man laughed, "Is that a way of saying that I should never visit you at home?"

Ron smiled, "You're always welcome to drop by, Paul." he said, draping his arm over the man's shoulders, "Just, never mention the fact that you're my friend to Fred or George, or you'll become a legitimate target for them."

Paul gulped, thinking about some of the mess he'd seen at his own school over the years due to the infamous Weasley twins. That time with the janitor and the puking pasty was now Academy folklore, and those portable swamps had made an interesting feature to their Quidditch pitch, even ifit _did_ discourage some of the more adventurous Chaser moves. If that was what their products did at the finished stages, he hated to think what their products were like when 'still in testing'.

"You know, I think I've just decided _not_ to pop by this Christmas." he said, making Ron laugh.

"It's entirely your choice, but if you do come, I can almost guarantee a prank," Ron shrugged, "It's tradition.

"You should have seen what they did to Harry last year!" Ron continued, oblivious to Paul's sudden attention at the sound of the infamous 'Saviour'. "Harry has this uncanny ability to be able to sense magical signatures, it's something he picked up during the war, but it makes him possibly one of the hardest people in the world to prank."

Ron smirked evilly, "Now, naturally, this makes him one of the twin's top targets, and this means they save the best pranks for him."

Paul leant in to hear more. "And?" He said, "What happened?"

Ron waved him away, "I'm getting to it! Err... which way was it?" he said as the pair found themselves at a kind of crossroads, marked by a statue of some sort of mythical Greek beast.

"Left," Paul said distractedly, "Now, what happened?!"

"Well, Harry was doing his morning jogs, something else he picked up from the war, although he gets lazy now and again," Ron rambled, "and he was passing the lake we have next to the house, when Fred and George attacked." Ron paused, thinking back with a smile on his face.

"Or, rather, the squid from Hogwarts grabbed him and dragged him into the water."

"What!?" Paul almost shouted, earning a look of contempt from an fierce looking witch coming the other way down the corridor. He continued in more of a whisper, "I've heard of how big that thing is, how'd they get it to your house!?"

Ron smirked. "You Bristol Academy boys," he sighed, "Always thinking _linearly_..." he said, regurgitating the phrase Hermione used on almost a daily basis during their Horcrux hunt when Harry and Ron got flummoxed by Riddle's tricks. "They didn't move the _Giant Squid_," he said, waving his hands around in the air for emphasis, "although, Fred did think about it..." he mused, before shaking himself back into the story.

"They transfigured one of the weeds at the bottom of the lake into a kind of Giant Squid tentacle. Harry couldn't sense it coming, coz it was too far underwater before it started moving, and once something the size of those tentacles starts coming at you, you've got no chance."

Paul shook his head. What sort of people even started to _think_ about doing this sort of stuff?!

"I know," Ron said, sensing his friend's line of thinking, "they're freaks, but that's what makes them so good at what they do. You sure it was left?"

Paul sighed again, "Yes, it's right around this corner," he said, steering the redhead around said bend, and into a corridor so white that it seemed everything gave off it's own glow. Actually, that probably wasn't far from the truth, as there were no visible light fittings.

Within seconds, the ward matron was upon them.

"What have you gone and done to each other this time?" she said in her usual '_I really couldn't care less what you've done to yourself, but I've got to ask_' kind of tone. Ron gave her a good natured smile, which incited a scowl from the old woman.

"Broken elbow, we think..." Paul indicated his injury by moving it slightly, and seemed to instantly regret it as he grimaced.

The old matron sighed, as if annoyed with the young man. "You better come with me then," she said, ushering Paul towards one of the pristinely white beds. If Ron didn't know any better, he'd say by the look on her face that it pained her to think of someone disturbing the pressed and crease-free sheets.

"You," she said, jabbing a finger in Ron's general direction, "You better get back to training. Although," she added, "If you're as good at injuring Death Eaters as you are injuring your team mates, I doubt you need it."

From behind the matron, Paul's gave a small chuckle. "That almost sounded like a compliment there." he said, "I'd leave, before she says what she really thinks of how your training is going."

Ron, for his part, didn't need telling twice, and was already walking away as he made his goodbyes.

Chuckling slightly, he retraced his steps back to the combat training rink. This was the part of the journey that he knew well enough. He'd had to learn it pretty quickly after getting lost not once, but six times in the first week. He was okay on the way to the Hospital wing, he had the injured parties to tell him the way after all, but after walking into a Hag self-defence class during one of the return trips, he quickly decided to _learn_ the way back himself.

He sighed. He didn't _mean_ to keep injuring his team mates, but when you were in a mock duel, things tended to just 'happen'. It wasn't his fault that he'd leant to duel the hard way, and that being soft on your opposition tended to end up disastrously. Just look at Pettigrew, the first time anyway. Harry had made sure the rat hadn't gotten away the second time. The temporary removal of limbs tended to do that to a person, even an animagus.

And _so what_ if Ron threw in a couple of punches every so often? Death Eaters weren't practised in any kind of martial art, so even a simple slug of a right rook tended to work in ways that a simple stunner couldn't. Admittedly, he shouldn't _really_ be breaking his team-mates' jaws, but that particular guy had been asking for it.

Honestly, _who _asks the brother of a girl they 'fancy' to set them up? And, as if that wasn't enough, describing Ginny as 'fucking hot' was probably _not_ the way to get into Ron's good books.

Hitting him had been more than enjoyable, especially when the instructor had praised Ron for using 'initiative' to gain the upper hand. Since then, physical attacks had been sloppily thrown in by many members of the trainees, but only Ron and a muggleborn, who'd studied Jitsu as a kid, ever landed anything.

Not that Ron didn't enjoy watching people making fools out of themselves. The other day one of the more 'enthusiastic' members of the team had attempted a flying kick. Admittedly, it had been very effective. Unfortunately, the resulting collision hadn't only knocked out the target, but broken the hip of the attacker.

Ron chuckled, Paul just didn't get a break sometimes, or perhaps he should say; Paul got _too many_ 'breaks'.

Poor Paul... Life really hadn't been good to him recently, what with the broken bones, the confrontation with Instructor Reyner, and his more than impressive flunk of the recent Potions paper that they'd all been forced to take. Ron, however, could identify with this, as he too, had done abysmally on the test.

In fact, there were a few things about Paul that Ron found endearing. Paul had graduated from the Bristol Academy of Magic with top grades in his N.E.W.T.s, and had an encyclopaedic knowledge of a number of text books on curses and counter curses. This similarity to Hermione alone was enough for Ron to warm to the man, but there was also Paul's tendency to jump into situations like Harry that made him, if anything, a little unstable.

Which was perfectly normal, as far as Ron could tell, what with being brought up in the Weasley household. Perhaps the small inclination towards breaking his own bones was a little abnormal, but that could soon be fixed. One day at the Burrow with the twins would be more than enough to tell Paul's body to toughen up.

Ron chuckled at the picture running through his head of Paul with his head transfigured into that of a white bunny rabbit at the hands of his brothers...

Then he walked into a table he hadn't seen coming.

Frowning at an Auror who had seen what he'd done and was now laughing about it, Ron looked around him and realised, with a certain amount of annoyance, that he had yet again, got himself lost.

Sighing, he turned around and made his way back down the corridor he'd come. He'd really need to improve his sense of direction sometime... maybe he should ask Hermione about it. Perhaps there was a spell for it?

* * *

_'Point Me,' Draco_ thought, the wand in his hand shifting slightly to point towards the building he was walking towards. Quickly, he slipped the wand back up his sleeve as one of the muggles started looking suspiciously at it. 

How he wished he could show them exactly what the 'stick' was. If Draco had had his way, they'd all now be in a time where every muggle would know what a wand was... and fear it. See it as an instrument that showed their inferiority to their masters. But no.

_Potter_ had to go and ruin it all.

Couldn't he see how superior wizards were to muggles? That there was something _fundamentally_ wrong with people who couldn't use, even _detect_ magic? If anything, Potter should be firmly on his side of the fence, what with those muggles that took care of him as a child. Surely Potter couldn't have missed how revolting these people were. Just like all the muggles in the world. Thinking they're in charge of their lives, when really it was the wizarding world that kept them safe from all the nastier things in the world.

Draco sneered at the thought of what would happen if the Dragons were let loose on the muggles. '_Serve them right_,' he thought.

Reaching the store front, Draco peered in through the dirty glass window.

It wasn't a store that would look out of place on Knockturn Alley, probably the reason muggles never entered it, despite it being on one of their 'normal' street corners. The shelves were packed with bottles of pickled fingers, preserved eyeballs and cured hamstrings. Alongside them stood open jars of various potions ingredients; slivers of boomslang, firefly abdomens and doxy wings.

Of course, the rather _strong_ anti-muggle warding had the effect of dissuading many of the would-be muggle visitors to the apothecary. It even had the effect of dissuading many muggleborn wizards too, which was always a plus.

Draco straightened his travelling cloak, before pushing through the door, making a surprisingly cheery sounding bell chime. Within seconds, a tall, thin man appeared from the back room. He had dark, if dated, wizarding robes on, and his face adorned a rather impressive handlebar moustache. Obviously, the guy didn't get out much, not that it mattered to Draco.

"Yes, young man?" the store owner said, peering over his moustache at Draco with an unreadable expression. Draco cleared his throat and closed the distance between the two, carefully stepping around a cauldron of what he recognised as a gently simmering shrinking potion.

"I'd like to place an order for a particular potion." Draco said as he reached the counter. He said it casually enough, but the large purse of gold he plonked down on the counter said everything that needed to be said. The store owner's eyes flashed slightly, before smiling at the young man in front him.

"Of course, Sir." he said, sweeping his hand furtively over the bag of gold. Unsurprisingly, the purse had disappeared next time either one of the men looked at the counter. "What can I do for you?"

Draco smiled, placing another, slightly larger bag of gold on the counter, "Let's just say, _luck_ appears to be on your side today."

* * *

It was a sunny day at the Burrow, but bitterly cold. The clear skies allowing all the heat from the sun slip away before it had a chance to seep into anything. Instead, a layer of frost seemed to cling to every conceivable surface, despite the sun's position in the sky that was demanding the recognition of early evening. 

The grounds were quiet, a slight tune being carried by the air from a Wireless inside the Burrow, but the lack of wind made the garden and lake seem almost frozen in time. A solitary trail of footprints could be seen in the frost-coated grass, leading towards the lake and back again. Even the gnomes had stayed in their burrows, preferring it to the frozen surface world.

Two faint _pops_ broke the silence, announcing the arrival of two figures into the middle of the grassy garden. Both of them were bundled up heavily with cloaks in an attempt to protect them from the cold, but it was still easy enough for any onlookers to distingush the messy black hair peaking out from under the muggle-style beanie of Harry Potter, and the bushy brown hair of Hermione Granger, unconvincingly hidden under a woolly hat.

"Bloody freezing." Were the first words of Harry Potter on arrival, as he pulled his cloak tighter around him despite the permanent warming charm on it. Apparently, Hermione either totally agreed with the statement, or had gotten used to the bad language over the years, as she didn't go to correct him.

The pair started to walk towards the Burrow, leaving their own trail of frosty footprints in the grass.

"So, you going to tell them this time?" Hermione said, linking her arm with one of her companion's. Harry smiled slightly.

"Not likely," he said, smirking down at his friend, "they've got enough to worry about with you entering their family, along with your surprise package." Hermione didn't miss his significant look at her stomach. "I don't think they could take _another_ person entering the family." Harry chuckled to himself.

"And anyway, the twins have all but figured it out, and if Mrs Weasley gets any more excited, she'd probably explode with joy." Hermione's eyebrows rose a few inches at Harry's words.

"You know," she said, giving Harry a very suspicious look, "_dating_ doesn't usually count as 'joining the family'." Harry gave her a confused look, before realising what she meant.

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head and holding his hands up, "it's nothing like that. She's still in Hogwarts for Merlin's sake! Mrs Weasley would _kill _me!"

"And then there's her brothers..." a male voice said from behind the pair. Harry jumped a mile in the air, but calmed slightly at the sight of Ron, and not one of the people his mind had immediately jumped to.

Ron smirked at his mate's jumpiness. "Good, and if you know what's good for you, it'll stay that way too." he said, before bending down to kiss his fiancée.

"I don't think Ginny will agree with you on that point." Hermione said with a wry smile as she and Ron broke away. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable at the way the conversation was turning.

"Do you think we can change the topic please?" he said, nervously scratching the back of his head. Ron seemed to agree as he immediately started recounting his 'day at the office'.

"...which naturally meant that he ended up on his arse holding a carrot." Ron said as they reached the back door of the Weasley home. Hermione sighed in what Harry guessed was annoyance, not that Ron noticed. Knocking, the trio waited on the doorstep as Ron went on to describe how one of the Instructors was sleeping with a senior Auror, and how unfair it all was because the guy was able to get away with murder. Even Harry, who usually found Ron's stories entertaining, was relieved when Mrs Weasley's smiling face appeared from behind the door.

"Ron!" she said, hearing his voice long before seeing him, "Harry, Hermione! You're all here! Come in."

Stepping aside, the Weasley matriarch ushered the young adults inside the kitchen. Harry smiled as he spotted the twins and Charlie sitting round the table already, all grimacing as they peeled spuds by hand. Fred (identifiable by the dimple in his left cheek, as opposed to George's right) nodded his head in greeting.

"She caught us setting up a prank for ickle Ronnikins." he said with a small smile, indicating his mother (who had just darted outside for some veggies from the garden) with a glare. His eyes flicked to Hermione, who was looking as if she was in total agreement with the punishment. "She thought it was for Mione here, and obviously, this didn't go down particularly well."

On the other side of the table, Charlie groaned. "If I hear _one more word_ about how pranking a pregnant woman is like attacking the baby with a bludgeoning charm..." he sliced violently at his potato, taking huge chunks out of the flesh along with the skin. "S'not as if Ron or Ginny turned out bad..."

"No, we turned out great in fact," said a feminine voice, entering kitchen from the staircase, "but you can't be so sure about the Twins."

Harry laughed, along with Charlie, but the Twins just threw their half peeled spuds at her, a move she easily dodged.

"Hey Ginny," Hermione said, moving to kiss the girl on the cheek and tutting at the behaviour of the twins at the same time. "S'good to see you again."

Ginny giggled, "It's only been five days Hermione," she said, hugging the girl and glancing at the two men behind her bushy-haired friend. "Hey guys."

"Hey Gin," Harry and Ron said in unison, before Harry continued on his own, "That's five _more _days education that you've got over us now. You'll have to tell us what we missed."

"And while your at it, you can tell Fred and George too," Mrs Weasley said, re-entering the room with a handful of carrots, which she promptly set down in front of the pair for peeling. Despite the fact that the twins had now made enough money to support the entire family for a number of years, Mrs Weasley still seemed to have a sore spot for that missed year.

Ginny smiled, "Perhaps later," she said with a wink at the twins, "but first; Harry, can I see you upstairs for a second?"

Harry smiled back, forcing a look of confusion onto his face. Naturally, the twins exchanged a meaningful glance with each other, but Charlie was too busy demolishing his spuds to notice, and Mrs Weasley had already turned back to her pots and pans.

Slipping past Hermione, and trying not to look to eager (or guilty), Harry followed Ginny up the creaking staircase.

Within thirty seconds, Harry found himself forced up against the inside of Ginny's bedroom door, a vivacious redhead pressed heavily against him.

"Nice to see you too, Gin." He panted when she eventually let him up for air.

"Nice?!" she replied, Harry was glad to see she was panting too, "I snog you against the back of my bedroom door for three whole minutes, and all you can come up with is '_nice_'?!"

Harry smirked down at the girl in his arms, "Do it again, and I'm sure I'll be able to think up a better adjective to describe it."

Ginny pouted, but apparently didn't think there was much wrong with the idea. When they came up for air next however, she had a look of expectancy as she looked at Harry.

"Extraordinarily amazing?" he tried, wincing at her raised eyebrow. She seemed to consider it, before shrugging.

"It's not like I chose you for your linguistic skills anyway," she said, smiling up at him in an almost pitying way. Harry was tempted to feel picked on, but the smiling face of his girlfriend seemed to make it all worth a little embarrassment.

It was times like these that Harry found himself almost mesmerised by the way his life had turned out. From his situation a couple of years ago, with the Prophecy hanging over him, Voldemort breathing down his neck, and people dying all around him, he'd never even dared to believe he could be this happy.

He had a job that he loved, with people that treated him like a normal human being. He had a relationship with the public that was actually based on merit, rather than rumour. He had a family that he knew would follow him to the end of the earth, because they already had. And, possibly most importantly, he had a girl that he knew loved him for _him_.

Despite what '_Witch Weekly_' said.

"What're you thinking about?"

Harry jumped, inciting a giggle from the girl in his arms as she smiled up at him softly.

"Just thinking about how perfect you are," he responded, earning a raised eyebrow for the uncharacteristically soppy line. Harry had to concede the point that, after years of him being depressed and miserable, it probably did sound a bit strange to hear himself say something like that.

Ginny smirked and hit him on the chest with a clenched fist, "Well," she said, "when you decide to come back to the real world, we should head back downstairs."

Harry glanced towards the clock on Ginny's bedside table, "I s'pose," he said, "If we stay up here any longer, I think even your Mum would start to guess something."

He didn't miss the look Ginny gave him at the comment, but chose to ignore it as he moved to open the door. It was no secret that Ginny wanted to tell her family about the whole thing. She'd never liked hiding their relationship in the first place, but during the war she had conceded the point. The likelihood that one of her family might have given their secret away inadvertently, under torture or similar, Harry had extended the blanket of secrecy over the Order too, including the Weasleys. It was after quite a bitter row that even had Ron and Hermione arguing with each other (not that it was hard to set them off) that Ginny had finally agreed to keep their relationship a complete secret.

Now the war had ended, Harry was just waiting for the point at which Ginny would kick up a stink and demand they tell her family.

Unfortunately for Harry, that time seemed fast approaching.

The pair walked back down the stairs in relative silence, each thinking their own thoughts, emerging into the kitchen to find total pandemonium.

The first thing the two registered were the fact that potatoes, peeled and unpeeled, were flying around the kitchen as if a flock of rather ungraceful birds. Charlie was taking cover under his end of the kitchen table with Hermione, fending off the odd spud or two with jabs of his potato peeler. Mrs Weasley was standing in the open back-doorway with an armful of assorted vegetables, a look of shock playing on her flustered face.

The twins, meanwhile, seemed to be the cause of this episode of high-speed-spudding, as they stood at either end of the room with their wands out, smiles of glee plastered all over their faces.

In the centre of the room, red with rage, but unable to do anything about it as spud after spud smacked him round the back of his head, was Ron. He had his wand out, and was doing his best to take aim at either one of the twins _and_ deflect oncoming potatoes at the same time.

And failing quite badly.

Mrs Weasley, who'd apparently entered the room at about the same time as Harry and Ginny, seemed to be the first to recover.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" she shrieked, moving into the room a pace, before dropping her veggies and jumping backwards as the airborne potatoes started attacking her too. One of the twins flicked his wand, and the spuds suddenly seemed to decide to ignore the Weasley matriarch.

"Oh nothing, dearest Mother of ours," said the other twin, who's similar flick of the wand seemed to have the total opposite effect, and caused a trio of spuds to fly at Ron's backside.

"We're just showing Ronnikins the practical applications of the term 'Fight or Flight'" said Fred, flicking his wand once again, and sending another volley of potatoes at Ron's head.

"In this case," said George, "the potatoes didn't like being skinned, and therefore the Flight or Flight reaction kicked in..."

"Interestingly however," said the first, "they seem to understand the concept about as well as Ronnikins, and have chosen the 'Fight _and_ Flight' reaction. Which, as we know..."

"Is total rubbish." Finished the other, flicking his wand once more and sending all the peelings (which had been inanimate up until this point) flying at Ron's face. A move that Ron hadn't been expecting, and therefore worked a charm.

"Bleh!" cried Ron, as he spat out the somewhat furry peelings, "Stop it you bastards!"

"Ron!" both his mother and Hermione crowed reflexively, although Mrs Weasley still seemed more angry with the twins than Ron.

"That's enough you two," she said angrily, eyeing the twins with a look Harry was glad he'd only been on the end of a couple of times over the past few years, "let your brother alone, now, or I'll take those wands away from you and then we'll see how _your_ fight or flight reactions work when I set Ron loose on you."

Unsurprisingly, the speeding potatoes quickly deposited themselves back in the bowls they'd previously occupied. Charlie and Hermione reappeared from under their table, and Harry and Ginny entered the room from the safety of the staircase.

"I knew there was a reason I loved coming home to eat!" Charlie remarked happily as he sat back at the table a few minutes later. Mrs Weasley had dictated that the twins finish the peeling, so the elder brother had been reprieved from the duty for the time being. A fuming Ron had been taken outside by an equally irate Hermione to cool down, leaving Mrs Weasley the one prowling the kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on the terrible twosome.

Ginny sat down next to her second biggest brother, patting his massively built (and disturbingly scarred) forearm with a deal of patronising affection.

"I thought it was because the food in Romania was crap," she said sweetly.

Charlie barked a laugh, "Well, I'm not going to defend Pierre; our cook," he added at Harry's questioning look, "He really doesn't do much to hold up the stereotype of the French being good cooks, but most of what he produces is edible." he chuckled to himself.

"Of course, not everything is. There was certain dish he served last Easter that not even the Dragons would touch. As a matter of fact, we used to smear it on our observation equipment as a deterrent for them to eat it." he smiled serenely at the memory, "Before we had that soup, the amount of sensors we were loosing to peckish dragons was seriously effecting our budget."

"Does it work if you put it on yourself?" Harry asked, sitting down on Charlie's other side.

"Too well," Charlie sighed, "I accidentally spilt some on my shirt once; they smelt me coming a mile off. They were gone before I even had a chance to catch a glimpse of them and they're surprisingly good at hiding when they don't want to be found." he explained.

"They're not the only ones good at hiding," Fred said, butting into the conversation, despite the glare his mother gave him. Harry raised his eyebrow at the man, but didn't have time to question, as George spoke up too.

"Now now, brother," he said, throwing his twin a grin, with a quick glance at his mother, "we don't want to get anyone into trouble now, would we?"

As expected, Molly Weasley jumped on the comment.

"What's this?" she demanded, coming up behind the twins and glaring down at them, "Who's keeping secrets?" her gaze flicked to Charlie for a second, obviously thinking he was the one the twins were talking about.

Fred, being the opportunistic half of the twins, seized on this. "We think," he said, throwing Harry a cursory glance that his mother totally missed, "that someone in this room has acquired a _girlfriend_."

Mrs Weasley immediately rounded on Charlie, giving Ginny the opportunity to throw glares at her twin brothers, and Fred in particular. Harry couldn't help but wonder, if Ginny disliked hiding it so much, why was it that she was so angry at the twins for this?

"Oh, who is it?" Mrs Weasley said excitedly, her previous mood with the twins seemingly dropped temporarily. Charlie, for his part, was looking decidedly sheepish. Harry, despite his annoyance at Fred, couldn't help but wonder if the two had perhaps stumbled onto a _real_ secret by accident.

"They're talking rubbish mum," Charlie said, holding his head up high,despite the blush that was threatening to run across his cheeks. "You know there are no attractive girls up in the Romanian dragon reserves, and I haven't been back in Britain long enough to _acquire_ a girlfriend." he narrowed his eyes at Fred in annoyance.

"Well, that only leaves one person then!" George said happily, turning to Harry.

Harry felt a knot form in his throat, and fought to keep his face in something resembling the annoyance on Charlie's. By the look on George's face, he'd have to guess that he was failing quite badly. Surprisingly, before Mrs Weasley registered the look, she unwittingly came to his rescue.

"Don't be silly George," she said, clearly mistaking Harry's expression for something totally different, "Harry's at the top of the 'Most Eligible Bachelor List' this year!" she said in a matter of fact tone that didn't leave room for her to be disagreed with.

"I think the people who write these things know what they're talking about. If Harry had a girlfriend, we'd know." she finished, leaving Harry (and the Twins) gobsmacked.

Harry dared a glance at Ginny, and was somewhat pleased to see her face as shocked as his own. Never before had Harry been so grateful for '_Witch Weekly_' magazine.

* * *

_See! Not too painful... was it?_

_Next chapter; find out exactly what Draco's up to, and how it effects Harry's next game against the Falmouth Falcons._

_Hopefully it shouldn't be too long a wait._

_Oh, and girls, if you want to help this emotionally retentive male with his female writing skills (for, heaven forbid, if I ever want to write a Witch Weekly article again), get on the blower and tell me what I'm doing wrong. Please!_

_Chris_


	5. A Lucky Star

_A/N 17th Feb '07: I've decided to down-class the rating from M to T for the reason that it's not actually as bad as I thought it might be. The only risque part is at the end of this chapter so far, and other than a bit of language, there's no reason for an M rating. I hope this might open up the story to a wider fanbase. Chris_

It's a new chapter, and it's a little short, but it is a few days (or weeks, depending on the time-scale I'm used to working on) early, so you can't go complaining at me.

So, without further-adu (I think that's right... tell me if it's wrong), Chapter 5!

* * *

_**A New Stadium, for a New Millennium!**_

_By: Niall Broomlove_

_New plans have been revealed by the _Department of Magical Games and Sports_ for the expansion of the country's sporting facilities, in celebration of the new start that the Millennium represents. Nearly all the magical sports have been given grants from the government's budget to cover the rejuvenation of their facilities, and expansion of their areas of influence._

_Gobstones have been given 100,000 Galleons to build a state-of-the-art training centre in Croydon, complete with 2,000 seater arena. In similar fashion, the Exploding Snap Confederation (long ignored by the Department of MG&S) has finally been given close to 20,000 Galleons to enable them to set up and employ personnel for their first officially recognised League._

_But by far the winner of the plans, are the British and Irish Quidditch League. They've been granted 300,000 Galleons to build a brand new stadium. The Quidditch governing board (WHISP), have publicly stated this morning that; '_We have no idea where we're going to put it, but we're very excited about the opportunity to spend that many Galleons.

_Bookies, however, are leaning towards a site in central London that previous developers have attempted to convert into a sporting venue, but have been thwarted by the large Muggle population. Their predictions are built on the assumption that with this amount of money thrown at the problem, it might '_magically_' disappear. An assumption obviously not far from the realms of possibility._

_In other Quidditch news, the opening match of 2000, the Norwich Flights versus the Falmouth Falcons, has already produced news, as the captain of the Falcons, Raymond Topper, openly challenged his opposite number this morning at a press conference:_

"I say to Potter: 'Just because you've saved our way of life a few times doesn't mean you'll be getting an easy ride. You might be good for school level, but against me and Garr, the term 'falling off your broom' will become a lot more literal in meaning.'_"_

_The match-up is forming up to be somewhat of a grudge match, with the teams almost tied on points (the Flights in 3rd with 980 and the Falcons in 5th on 950, the Tornadoes are sitting nicely between them on 970), with the Falcons promising to go all out with their usual heavy hitting tactics. The Flights have kept strangely silent, not reacting to the taunts of their opposition, perhaps attempting to keep their tactical strategy a secret before the big game._

_Whatever happens, this match is very important in terms of League position, and in terms of getting the new Millennium off to a winning start. We all know how important momentum is in this game, and as both teams come off three-match winning streaks, this could prove to be one of the highlights of the season. In any case, the clash will severely hamper either teams chances in the title race if they loose, and will be a huge stepping stone for the victors._

_This reporter wishes both teams the best of luck!

* * *

_

Draco swore, ducking into an open doorway to avoid the security man who paced meaningfully down the dreary corridor. Freezing, he felt the foul-smelling air blow past him as the guard swept by his hiding place, totally oblivious to the young man hiding under the invisibility cloak only inches from him.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, Draco stepped back into the dimly lit corridor and started along it again.

According to the plans he'd been able to acquire, this mouldy looking service passage should have gotten him past all the security measures put in place on a match day. But apparently, they seemed to expect some sort of trouble, and this worried Draco a little.

What if they had other areas of the stadium more protected than normal? What would happen if he got caught? What would DeBerrow think?

But Draco, despite what his father had thought, had never been a coward, and so, he pressed forward, silently thanking his lucky stars (or the little sip of the potion he was carrying) that he'd had the forethought to pack his family's invisibility cloak.

The plan was simple, if slightly risky, but the rewards would outweigh the punishment tenfold if he were caught. Draco silently patted his robe, feeling the tiny bottle of potion that had cost him more than he dared think about, given the dwindling remains of his 'family fortune'. All he had to do was slip it in Potter's goblet, then evaporate.

Not that these things were ever that simple.

Draco came to a stop, directly next to a rickety ladder that led up to a rusty grating. Draco smiled, knowing that he'd successfully navigated his way through the labyrinth of service tunnels, and started to climb, only pausing for a few seconds to check the coast was clear before removing the grate and climbing into the much plushly decorated corridor of the player's changing rooms.

Replacing the grill, Draco started his way slowly down the passageway, peering in each doorway as he passed. Strangely, no one seemed to be around, perhaps they trusted their security to stop any intruders so much that they had none stationed on the inside.

These people were meant to be _'celebrities' _after all... despite how much it pained Draco to think of Potter as such, and they wouldn't want to have security passing them every few steps in these tight corridors.

After a few minutes of searching, Draco found exactly what he was looking for; the kitchens.

This room, unsurprisingly, was full of activity. Chefs in white cloaks were running around waving their wands like muggles at Halloween, and their underlings looking just as stressed. Draco knew in an instant that he wouldn't be able to walk through the room without someone bumping into him. He needed an accomplice.

Backtracking along the corridor a little way, he arrived at an office he'd passed a few seconds before. Inside, behind a desk, was a rather beautiful young lady with golden hair that cascaded down over a rather alluring set of assets. If Draco thought he had the time, he might have had a bit of fun with this one. Too bad he was on a deadline.

Draco shook himself out of his distraction and, slipping his wand out his sleeve, poked just the tip out the cloak

'_Imperio_'.

The receptionist's eyes rolled up into the back of her head, just as that same head that went limp. Draco reacted fast, closing the door and taking the hood of the cloak down to reveal his head.

"Listen to me," he demanded. The receptionist's head sprung up immediately, and turned to face Draco, her eyes remaining unfocused, "I need you to take this bottle, and pour it's contents into Harry Potter's goblet, just after his morning warm-up."

Draco reached into his cloak, taking hold of the small bottle and revealing it to the only-vaguely-aware receptionist. It was only half full and with no stopper, one of the perks of storing the potion. In any case, there was enough Felix Felicis in the bottle for at least seven hours of good luck.

Shoving the tiny bottle in the receptionist's hands, Draco grabbed the girl by the chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"You will act naturally." he stated, "No one must suspect, or be able to find out that you spiked Potter's drink. When the deed is done, you will excuse yourself and come and find me at the muggle pub in Leatherbridge; the '_Dog's Arms_'. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Draco watched the receptionist's eyes come into focus as the command to 'act naturally' came into effect. Eventually, when the receptionist looked as if she were merely listening with mild interest to the talking head in her office, he saw her nod in response to his question.

"Good." Draco replied, covering his head with the invisibility cloak, "Make it quick," he added, just as he re-opened the office door, "I don't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

Harry swerved, narrowly avoiding Ez as she made a rather difficult Quaffle catch, and almost carrying himself into the path of an oncoming Bludger in the process. A quick drop in height brought him into safer air, but apparently Robin hadn't finished with him yet. 

The distinct sound of the air whistling past a Bludger could be heard just behind his left ear. Not a place Harry liked hearing it.

In a reverse of his previous movement, Harry suddenly climbed, twisting in the air to take the tail of his customised broom out of the Bludger's path at the same time. There wasn't much good with saving himself if his mode of transport got destroyed in the same act.

Not that there weren't enough anti-snapping charms on the broom to use it as a very effective Beater's bat without worrying about it breaking.

It was best not to take the chance, in any case.

Within seconds, Robin was streaking past, hot on the tail of the rogue Bludger with a smirk on his face.

"I was close that time!" he shouted as he passed, winking at Harry. Harry, for his part, simply scowled back, making a mental note to slip one of the Twin's new products into the boy's pre-match meal.

Speaking of food...

Harry checked his watch, almost noon, they'd been out there for three hours already. '_Well,_' he thought, '_They do say time _flies_ when you have fun._'

Clucking at the shear terribleness of his own joke, Harry summoned his wand into his hand from it's arm holster, another little trick he'd picked up in the war, and raised it, creating a loud bang that brought the practice session to a standstill.

"Time for lunch people!" he cried, not feeling the need to say anything else. Apparently, neither did anyone else, as they all made a beeline for the changing rooms for a well-earned shower.

Harry reflected on the practice, well, more of a warm up. It wasn't like they'd been trying out any new moves, or even any of their current ones. The Falcons had a 'representative' sitting in the stands, just as the Flights did for the Falcons' practice sessions. It was a good way to find out who was on bad form, or, if the team was stupid enough to try and practice a new move, the 'representative' could report back and come up with a counter-manoeuvre.

Not that many teams were that stupid.

In any case, Harry reckoned that the representative would have to report back that _'the Flights are on top form; it's hopeless'_. They'd been pretty darn good, if he did say so himself. Robin had finally gotten over the fact that he was in the team and Timothei was as silent as usual, but just as dangerous with his aim. The Chasers had started to gel back together in the way they had during the match against the Prides back in November. Needless to say, that had been one of the Flights' more impressive wins. And lastly, Tomas was pulling off some of his most impressive saves of the season.

It seemed the break over Christmas hadn't had the effect that the manager had predicted. The opposite in fact. Lucky, that.

Harry glided down and into the antechamber, dismounting and swinging his Lightningbolt over his shoulder without breaking stride. He quickly paced into the boy's changing rooms, securing the boom in his locker and throwing his dirty kit in a pile in the middle of the room. The house elves would clean and sort them before the match started in a couple of hours.

After grabbing a quick shower, Harry was one of the first into the mess hall, a large wooden-clad room that held two long tables resembling the famous Hogwarts house tables. Naturally, the two teams both ate in this room, a table each. Apparently the interior designers managed to capture the competitive and antagonistic feeling of the great hall at the same time, as Harry was already being looked at by the other team like he'd recently insulted their mothers.

Ez, who had wisely chosen to sit with her back to the other table, sniggered at her captain.

"You'd have thought that you'd have learnt to ignore people on other tables by now," she said, whipping her head around to poke her tongue out at the offending parties, "Just imagine that's the Slytherin table just before the opening match of the year at Hogwarts."

"You forget that I haven't done that for at least two and a half years." Harry said, grabbing a pork chop from a passing waitress. Unlike Hogwarts, the stadium didn't have an army of house-elves to cook the food, or magical plates to transport it to the table. Instead, they relied on a relatively large staff of cooks, waiters and porters to do the catering. Harry noted with a smile that most the 'waiters' appeared to be 'waitresses', but that wasn't really a problem for him. Nor for Ez, if the predatory look in her eyes was anything to go by as a pretty waitress with golden-blond locks walked into the room carrying a tray of drinks. Ez turned her gaze to Harry, and from the expression on her face, Harry could tell she wanted something.

"Oh no," Harry said, shaking his head and making Ez pout, "I'm not going to ask the girl for her name, like last time." Harry shook the memory out of his head of that time, when a different girl had accidentally got the wrong impression and thought Harry was actually asking her out.

"Aww," Ez said, making her puppydog eyes at him, "but she's so cute!"

Harry frowned at his Chaser, "Things must be really bad between you and Tania if you're asking me to get other girl's information for you." Harry watched as Ez's face turned slightly sour.

"She's being a bitch." Ez said, slamming down the goblet of pumpkin juice a little harder than she meant to, sloping the liquid all over the table. It was nothing a little wave of her wand couldn't fix though. "She doesn't like the fact that I work so closely with Robert, even though he only operates in helping us train since his injury."

Harry looked at her incredulously.

"She's jealous of your close relationship to a _guy_?" Robin said from beside Harry, having arrived sometime in the middle of the conversation. Ez made a sour face.

"You'd have thought that perhaps _she_ might have noticed my sexual orientation," Ex said, stabbing one of her potatoes viciously with her fork.

"Was she like this when you played for the Harpies?" Harry asked. Despite herself, Ez's mouth twitched into a smile.

"Not quite," she said with a smirk, "seeing as _she_ was the one I was working _closely_ with."

Harry and Robin gave each other knowing looks and quickly went back to their food, attempting to evict the vision that had just popped into their heads.

"And anyway," Ez said, breaking the silence, "who says I'm actually gunna _do_ anything with a name? It's not like every girl I set eyes on is gay."

Harry sighed, giving Ez the dirtiest look he could muster. Annoyingly, the girl just smiled hopefully back, totally ignoring the expression.

"Ok," he finally said, "When she comes over here I'll ask her for a drink," Ez's eyes lit up, "But _you _have to do the talking." Harry finished, pointing a finger at the Chaser, who just stuck her tongue out at him.

He didn't dwell on the response, as the waitress was now passing behind him, and he had to quickly grab her arm to stop her going past. The girl gasped, just catching the tray she was carrying before it spilt.

"Sorry," Harry apologised, the girl didn't seem to notice however, as she was intently watching the tray as if she couldn't believe she almost dropped it. "Are you okay?"

This got the girl's attention, as she shook her head and turned to Harry. "Don't worry, I'm fine." she said, lowering the drinks tray to his eye level. "Er, would you like a drink?"

Harry smiled at her in an apologetic way, but took one of the fuller drinks. Harry's brain silently registered that it was a little weird for one of the goblets to be more full than any of the others, seeing as none of the pumpkin juice had spilt in the earlier collision, but didn't really think about it past the fact that more liquid meant he could put off asking for a drink again that little bit longer.

He shot Ez a look that told her in no uncertain terms to get a move on and take the spotlight off of him. Ez smirked back.

"Which one of those is nicest?" Ez said, standing up and leaning over the table to reach the tray, leaving a very _alluring_ sight for the girl to look at, and as a result, Robin and Harry too. Naturally, the two boys gulped, gave each other another look, then went very quickly back to their food.

The pretty blond looked a little unsettled by the query. "Er... I-I'm not sure..." she said, shaking her head as if it were a hard question. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was having the same reaction to the sight of Ez in full bloom as he and Robin had, just, she couldn't escape it. "I-I'm just filling in for a sick colleague." she said eventually, "as far as I know, they're all the same." Ez saw the girl's eyes flick to Harry's goblet, but ignored it.

"Aww," Ez said, smiling sweetly and picking up the nearest goblet, "that's so sweet of you to do that for a friend."

The girl blushed prettily, but quickly pulled away from the table, taking the tray with her. "I've got to get going," she said, excusing herself, "I hope you enjoy your drinks."

Ez's smile turned to puzzlement as the blond quickly walked away, and then back to her earlier sour look.

Harry couldn't help but give a little snigger. "You win some..." he said, taking a sip of his juice, "you loose some." he concluded, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back against an imaginary back to the seat. Unfortunately, he leant too far, and fell backwards off the bench.

Robin and Ez burst into laughter, as did Harry when he suddenly realised he didn't hurt in the slightest from his little tumble.

It was just lucky for him that the cook's cat had been passing under him at the same time as he fell, giving him a soft landing. In another turn of luck, Harry was relieved to see the cat seemed fine, if a little ruffled, but it didn't seem to feel the need to attack him in retaliation.

Lucky, really...

* * *

Jennifer Crux apparated into the back alley, upsetting a dustbin in the process and sending a cat flying. Totally ignoring the distressed moggie, the young woman walked to the end of the alleyway and turned onto the main street, her golden locks blowing about her face with the cold north wind. 

She made her way swiftly through the town, bushing through crowds of Muggles as they went about their shopping in the local market. Eventually, she came to an old building, painted white, with a hanging sign proclaiming the name '_The Dog's Arms_', a picture of a terrier bursting out of a shield painted above the name.

Without a second thought, Jennifer pushed her way into the public house and made her way into the darkest corner, her instincts guiding her to where her master would be waiting.

Sure enough, despite the 'notice-me-not' charms placed all over the table, she recognised the face of the man who'd become her conscience. She quietly sat down next to him.

"Is it done?" he said, taking a small sip of what looked like some kind of ale. Jennifer didn't dwell on it too much.

"It is," she responded, her voice flat and level, showing no emotion, "Potter was drinking it even as I left the room."

The figure, who was still shrouded in shadow, nodded, "Good, you've done well. However..." Jennifer watched in a detached manner as the figure pulled out his wand, "...however, I can't let you remember any of this. _Oblivate!_"

* * *

Harry swerved in mid air, the Bludger missing by miles, and immediately targeting one of the opposition players, Norman, instead of coming back around. 

Harry frowned. The Falcons were well known for, and feared by the rest of the League due to the fact that, they played some of the most physical Quidditch in the world. Apparently there was an African team who were just as aggressive, but as far as Harry knew, these were the worst of the worst, the bullies of the League, and the world leaders in Bludger accuracy.

Their two Beaters, Sanderson and Topper, were world class, but hadn't been called up for England since their first (and last) game against Egypt, due to their tendency to use their bats to hit more than just the ball.

League statistics showed that the Seeker of the opposing team had a one-in-three chance of sustaining a serious injury whilst playing the Falcons.

And so far, Harry hadn't even been touched.

Harry soared down the pitch, watching in wonder as the players seemed to move out of his way, rather than him having to make his usual snaking route through them.

Even the Bludgers seemed to get distracted out of his path.

It was boring...

Harry scowled as he rounded the goalposts at the end of the field, and took a look at the scoreboard.

40 to nil, to the Flights. Not what most of the pundits had predicted...

You see, the Falcons tended to rely on their Beaters to defend, and attack, and help with interplay... Basically, every aspect of their game was strengthened by the Beaters, and without them, the team was distinctly average.

It wasn't that the Beaters weren't there, it was that the pair were getting a little annoyed with not being able to hit the opposing Seeker. Harry.

And Harry really couldn't explain it.

Ducking fractionally as a Bludger flew past (well wide), Harry looked towards where the second Beater was lining him up. Unfortunately, even as Harry watched, Sanderson swung so hard at the Bludger that he almost missed the ball completely, and even then only managing to deflect it into his own stomach.

Harry heard half the crowd explode in laughter (the half dressed in Maroon and Gold), and at any other time, he would have laughed along with them.

But something was wrong. _Seriously_ wrong.

Two Beaters of this calibre don't just 'miss' their targets twelve times in a row.

At first, Harry thought that perhaps they were drunk... but this was before they'd started targeting him exclusively, and Luce would happily (or perhaps not-so-happily) confirm that their aim was just as deadly as normal. She had the multiple bruises to prove it.

So it wasn't anything wrong on their part, they just couldn't hit _him_. And this was worrying in itself.

His first thought had been that maybe he'd reflexively put up a wandless _protego_, but as the couple had continued to miss, and Harry had deliberately clamped down on his magic, he'd ruled it out.

Then there was the possibility that there was someone in the stands, deflecting the Bludgers and distracting the Beaters illegally with magic.

So, Harry had tried to find this person by first, looking into the stands for the person, happy in the knowledge that no Bludger would hit him. But he'd soon decided that trying to find one wand in a sea of 3,000 wizards was paramount to finding a Crup in a room full of Jack Russells.

So he switched tactics, flying all over the stadium to find out where this person started to loose aim. Unfortunately, this just distracted him so much, that the opposition Seeker had had a free run at the Snitch. It was only a good hit from Timothei that stopped the small man from picking up the win.

After that, Harry had been sure to watch for the Snitch at the same time as searching for this person. Unfortunately, after ten minutes of flying all over the stadium (and not bothering to dodge the poorly hit Bludgers) Harry had eventually gotten annoyed and flown straight up into the air with speed.

Predictably, both Bludgers had been hit up at him, and Friar, the opposition Seeker, had darted up after him.

What happened next did nothing to help with his theory, as at 1,000 feet, Harry had suddenly stopped in mid-air, waiting for the Bludgers to advance on him. Amazingly, at the last minute, both of them swerved and attacked Friar instead. The poor Seeker had been so surprised that he'd almost forgotten to dodge, and only survived the collision because Harry had speedily smacked one of the growling balls away with a lucky broom-tail side-swipe.

So, it wasn't a rogue supporter. Then what could it be?

It had come to him in a flash of inspiration as he caught sight of a similar flash of gold.

_Felix Felicis!_

Harry sped of towards the glittering gold sphere, all the while trying to work out when he could have taken it. Merlin, even try to work out if it was _possible_ to take it and not know.

Cutting through a pack of players like a knife, Harry even had time to say sorry to Ez as he almost knocked her off her broom as he passed. Within seconds (due to the Snitch taking the unprecedented decision to stop in mid-flight) Harry was on the golden ball.

Amazingly, considering the circumstances, Harry almost missed the Snitch, caught off-guard as the golden ball came to it's senses and tried speed off.

Luckily for Harry ('_Hah!_'), he somehow managed to pull off an unwitting '_Plumpton Pass_', capturing the Snitch up his sleeve.

A second later, and the game was over as he simply reached into his right sleeve, and pulled out the struggling Snitch.

"_And the Flights win the match 200 to nil!_" said one of the commentators as the referee blew his whistle. "_What an amazing game by the Potter! It was almost as if he was charmed!_"

Harry could only hope that the Felix would now work in his favour, and he'd be able to sneak out without anyone asking awkward questions.

"Potter!" a call went up from the manager's box, and Harry floated over to a frowning Mathias Thrombi.

"Potter, well done on the win." he said in a neutral tone, "I think you might have pulled a muscle in your arm on that capture though. I'd like to see you in the Physio room immediately."

Harry laughed nervously.

Perhaps this wasn't his lucky day after all...

* * *

_There! What did you think? Is '_short-but-quick_' a good way to produce chapters, or would you rather I went back to my '_it takes two weeks, but it's a nice juicy 8,000 worder_' style of writing?_

_Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!_

_...ahem... Please..._

_Chris_


	6. Publications and Accusations

I'm terribly sorry about the wait... I made the very bad mistake of telling a friend of mine that I usually updated once a fortnight, usually on the tuesday or wednesday. Naturally, this jinxed it so that I didn't manage to post _anything_ that week (or the next). I apologise!

And Spesh, this one's for you! Told you I'd get it up eventually!

Enjoy...

* * *

"Potter, I want an explanation." Mathias Thrombi, the Flight's manager said, "_NOW!_"

They'd only just closed the door to the physiotherapy room, and Harry hadn't even had time to put down his broom yet. However, it didn't look like his manager was going to be a waiting man.

"I don't know what happened..." Harry started, but Thrombi cut across the excuse.

"You might be a top rate Seeker, but you're no fool, Potter." He said, jabbing one of his rather porky fingers at Harry, "You know _exactly _what happened out there, and I have a damn strong feeling to throw you to the press with it!"

The rather large man took a calming breath, before starting again in a more controlled manner, "However, as much as I'd like to take you down a few pegs, the use of _Felix Felicis _is strictly forbidden, and the entire team would suffer the consequences."

He turned away, staring out of a window over the ground, where the spectators were slowly making an exit from the stadium. It was in almost a whisper that the manager spoke next. "Tell be boy," he said, "what _possessed _you to take that damn potion?!"

Harry gulped.

"Mathias, you know me better than that." he tried softly, "I wouldn't do that to the team. To _myself_!"

Harry scratched the back of his head. "I think someone slipped it to me before the match."

Mathias' eyebrow rose slightly.

"Slipped you the potion?" he said incredulously, "How exactly does one '_slip_' someone, let alone a Quidditch player who's been in training all day, Felix Felicis? You've been in a secure facility, and the only people who've been anywhere near your food or drink has been the staff here, who's _job_ it is is to _stop_ the players cheating."

Harry gulped again, what he was gulping he didn't know, as his mouth was desert dry, but he was gulping non-the-less.

"I haven't quite worked that bit out yet..." He said sheepishly. Unsurprisingly, Mathias grunted something about how stupid Seekers were before going back to watching the pitch.

It was another uncomfortable silence before either spoke again.

"You wouldn't lie to me about this, would you?" Thrombi said, his tone accusatory, rather than understanding. Harry shook his head.

"No, Sir," he said, referring naturally back to the way he used to talk to his professors, "As you said, I'm smarter than that."

Mathias grunted a response, apparently thinking over his options.

"Have you ever taken the potion before this date?" he asked suddenly. Harry blinked.

"Once," Harry replied, and then at the harsh look Thrombi gave him, quickly added, "A-at Hogwarts during my 6th year. Never during a match."

Thrombi's expression softened slightly, but the questions continued, "Is there any proof of that, that would stand up in a trial?"

Harry blanched. He hadn't realised it was quite that serious. "Sure," he said, "My potions professor, Professor Slughorn, gave a vial of it to me as a reward for good classwork. He survived the war, I'm sure he'd happily testify to that."

Thrombi's expression seemed to slip back to the emotionless mask that usually occupied it. Harry's mind was still on the questions however.

"What's that got to do with anything though?" he asked. Thrombi's eyebrow rose once again, despite the mask.

"Hogwarts N.E.W.T.s in Potions seem to have slipped in recent years..." he said in a tone that carried a hint of bitterness. Harry stored it away to think on later.

"I ask because there's only one test for Felix Felicis, and it can only distinguish between someone who's taken the potion and someone who hasn't." Thrombi continued, "Meaning that someone like you, who's taken the potion previously, would turn up positive irrespective of recent _supplements_."

Harry's brain struggled to keep up, what with the shock of it all. He was unaware that his eyes were lighting up. "So, you're saying that because I took it at Hogwarts, they can't prove that I've taken in since?"

Thrombi's eyes darked once more. "Yes, Potter. That's exactly what I'm saying, but don't go thinking that you can do this again!"

"I didn't knowingly take it in the first place!" Harry countered, getting slightly annoyed now that his manager apparently didn't believe him.

"Be that as it may, that's not what the press would say if they ever found out." he eyed Harry critically, "I'm going to suggest that you get yourself out of here as quickly as possible, and avoid the press for a while. We'll pass it off as an injury related precaution, and with any luck, they'll believe it."

Harry chuckled ruefully, "Now we're hoping there's still some left in my system... how ironic."

* * *

_The Flights Fleece Points Away from a Flabbergasted Falmouth._

_By Niall Broomlove_

_Last weekend's match was always destined to hit the headlines, but not even the most reckless of gamblers would have bet on the outcome that presented itself yesterday:_

_A whitewash win for the Flights._

_Yes, that's right. With an end score of 200 to nil, this strengthens the Flight's position in the league, and sends the Falcons plummeting down the table to a lowly seventh. However, the Flights, despite the win, also drop a place after the Ballycastle make an impressive showing against the Wasps in Dartmoor, and fly up three places to third._

_But, it's not league position that's got people talking following the match-day, it's the sensational flying of one of our most celebrated Seekers: Harry Potter._

_The young Captain, who's now being linked to the International squad for a second time since the season began, had a scorcher of a game, setting a record for the most consecutive Bludger dodges in a competitive match (with forty-seven). The previous record holder, Raymond Ragtail (with forty three), had this to say:_

It's an outstanding achievement, and if I didn't know he'd dodge it, I'd likely throw something at him in a fit of annoyance for taking away my record.

_That said, there have been complaints from both Falcon fans and management, and allegations of cheating. The most amusing of these being that Potter was in position of a 'Scripmonk'. For those of you that don't read the Quibbler, this is meant to be the one animal on the planet that the Bludgers will not attack. Far-fetched, I know, but I did say it was amusing._

_However, the claims for disqualification go much further, as one member of the Falcons' coaching staff put it: '_I've never seen such a blatant use of a befuddlement charm!

_As a precaution, Mr Potter's wand was checked, and found to be clear of any charms that may have helped him in setting the record (and taking the win)._

_Thus far, Mr Potter has been cooperating with the authorities, and although he was rushed out of the ground minutes after the match had finished, the Department of Magical Games and Sports has no plans to suspect foul play. At present, the Falcons are looking to their lawyers to see if they have a case to force the Department to look further into the match's goings-on, but this reporter can see no reason for it._

_In other news, the Portsmouth Plumbers show their new-found class by beating the Cannons like the other league clubs:_

_By totally decimating them...

* * *

_

Hermione sighed, throwing the Prophet back onto the coffee table and collapsing back into her favourite chair.

Why couldn't Ron support another team, _any_ other team? You know, like one that wins every so often, rather than one that seems to loose at any and _every_ given opportunity.

Why couldn't he support the Tornadoes? Or what about the Kestrels? Merlin, even the Prides would be a step up.

Despite her disinterest in the sport, Hermione had learnt that supporting the Cannons was something that simply _wasn't_ done by the everyday person. You had to either live in Chudley (of which, half the population supported some other team out of open protest at their own team's ineptitude), or have some sort of family connection to one of the players.

Ron, naturally, had none of these things.

When asked, he told everyone that he started supporting the team at the age of six, because he liked the colour. Ginny, on the other hand, swore blue it was because Ron's first ever broom was second hand, and the previous owner had inscribed '_Go Cannons!_'. The twins, according to Ginny's story, had teased him so much that Ron had eventually started to defend the team.

Hermione knew Ron to be impulsive by nature, but that was one step she really didn't understand.

Unfortunately, Ron's other defining characteristic was his stubborn streak. And once he'd started defending them, Ron wound up being a life-long supporter. Even when the Twins had grown tired of teasing him about his broom, Ron had retained a fierce loyalty to the team.

Shaking her head at the stupidity of it all, Hermione got up, holding her slightly swollen belly as she walked over to her desk. She looked at it with a wary eye as she approached, keeping special attention to one of the top draws. It had a habit of flying out at any who dared approach it.

That was the last time Ron and Harry had been allowed to shop on their own. Hermione had no intentions of letting them do so again in the near future either.

After deciding it was safe to walk right up to the desk, she routed through the mess of papers on it's top. Mess wasn't something she was used to, but being pregnant tended to change the wiring of the female mind a little. It had been only a few months ago that Ron had pointed out that his fiancée's desk was messier than his own, and Hermione had been just as shocked as him to find truth in the statement.

Since then, she'd learnt to live with (and even come to find comfort in) the organised mess that she called a workspace.

Finding the collection of parchments she'd been looking for, Hermione backed carefully away from the desk (the draw had a tendency to attack people as they were leaving too), and made her way back to the sofa.

Dropping down into it's comfortable embrace once more, she started to flick through the papers, sighing at almost regular intervals.

Didn't these cretins realise that dragon's blood actually _perpetuated_ the flow of the manastream, resulting in a much _higher_ resultant magical backlash?! It was N.E.W.T level potions!

Sometimes she wondered how exactly the people she worked with managed to get their jobs in the first place. It was common knowledge that the Unspeakables were at the height of theoretical magical research.

Unfortunately, from Hermione's perspective, that seemed simply to be a very cleverly spun myth, and that most the people in the department were simply there for the fact that they got to sit around and play with fire all day long. Timmands, she was sure, did exactly that; as every time Hermione saw him, his eyebrows were in some sort of state of smouldering. _(A/N: My writer's instincts really wanted me to edit that to read more nicely, but just try saying it ten times fast!)_

Not everyone was like that however, and there were a couple of people Hermione had found she could have a serious, intellectual conversation with. Gibbs, from the_ Interstellar Astro-Micro-Astrology Department_, had an acute grasp of magical theory, and Robinson, from the _Druid Liaison Department_, was top in his field of ancient magical practices.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to spend much time with either of them, as only a month into the job, Hermione had been forced into maternity leave. Apparently the Department of Mysteries was simply too dangerous for unborn babies.

So, she'd been stuck at home, reading (and mostly correcting) the theoretical papers her colleagues produced on a seemingly daily basis. For example, one particularly useless researcher had sent her a paper explaining his latest experiment, and a small note asking for ideas why it hadn't yielded any results.

She'd promptly send back a reply stating that the simple act of putting a hard-boiled egg under a perpetual heating spell would not, under any circumstances, 'yeild' a bird.

Honestly! Didn't some of these people have even an _ounce_ of common sense?!

The reply from the researcher, which had gone on at length about how it _was _possible '_coz I sawed it done on a muggle doku-whatsit_', proved to her that some of them clearly didn't.

She sighed and rubbed her head as she re-read the paper she was currently working over. It was meant to be on experimental wand cores, but the researcher clearly had no idea how wands were made, or why they worked.

The woman had suggested a number of materials that were widely known for their magical properties, totally misunderstanding the fact that powerful wand cores _did not_ make a powerful spell. They simply helped wizards with greater magical outputs control their power more effectively than, say, a Snidget feather wand, that was more suited to the user with large magical reserves but limited maximum output.

Hermione had almost choked on one of Harry's pancakes when she'd first read the report (and in particular, the theory on how Re'em hide would be a good core for a near-squib, as it would provide the user 'a strength in casting that they wouldn't otherwise have'). Now, on the fifth time of reading, it still troubled her that some Unspeakables were simply this dense.

She supposed however, as she leant forward to use the coffee table as a rest to write her recommendations on, that not all the wizarding schools in Britain were as stringent as Hogwarts, and that while they still had to conform to submitting their students to the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, perhaps there was a simple 'added value' factor that truly made Hogwarts the greatest magical school of the age.

Not that Plymouth Potions-Polytechnic, or the Chelsea College for Conjuring were bad institutes of learning by any stretch of the imagination, the Greenwich Gymnasium School, for example, had produced some of the country's highest marks in both Astrology _and _Arithmancy, three years running.

It was just...

There was something about the _standard_ of the people who came from Hogwarts...

Hermione shook her head. It was very unfair of her to judge others on where they went to school. Sure, Hogwarts was a great institution, but it couldn't possibly be the only one. With an output topping thirty students a year, the country would fall apart if it were. And it wasn't like _every_ magical child could go to Hogwarts either.

The UWK (the United Wizarding Kingdom - which included the entirety of Ireland, formed long before the muggle English had attempted to invade the Emerald Isle) had a magical population upwards of 60,000, with approximately 12,000 of that number children under 17. Approximately half of that number were in school, and although Hogwarts was one of the biggest of the magical schools in Britain, it's maximum capacity was around 200. Nowhere near being able to accommodate the 6,000 magical children that had to pass through the system every year.

It was inevitable then, she supposed, that some of the kids who came though some of the lesser-funded schools weren't going to have had some of the opportunities that kids from Hogwarts had had. It _was_ a school that hand-picked it's students, after all. Most the kids who went there would have shown some sort of extra-special magical talent (or extra-deep magical pockets that held Galleons by the bucket load, probably going via Lucius Malfoy, or even more probably stopping with the man too), and that would almost guarantee good results (and full coffers) for the school.

Hermione suddenly found herself extremely thankful for being selected to go to Hogwarts, shuddering at the thought of having to go to school with someone who thought that one of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood was as an ingredient in the muggle 'Red Bull' stimulant drink. Surely _anyone_ would realise that muggles would run a mile if they ever saw a dragon, rather than kill it for it's blood.

Then again, with people like these recommending the government on what magical substances muggles were allowed to know about (assuming their magical properties weren't disclosed), Hermione really wouldn't be surprised to find that the chief ingredient was something stupid like feathers from winged Granian horse. At least it had some sort of _reference_ to wings...

* * *

Draco Malfoy sneered at the picture that adored the back page of the _Daily Prophet_, just as it showed Harry Potter barely managing to fly between two viciously hit Bludgers. It was chosen, of course, because it was one of the only times in the game that Potter had looked like he'd meant to dodge the growling balls...

It was just the sort of image that Draco had come to expect to see on the rag of a newspaper. It was the great lapdog of the Wizarding world, producing articles showing whatever somebody with a large enough pocketbook, the _Prophet_ sold the opinion of the general public to the highest bidder.

In the past, this had been a god-send for the Dark Lord, as ironic as it sounded. The Dark Lord had slandered and discredited many of his enemies without even resorting to the nastier side of his psyche. Naturally, that tended to come later in the day, but it was a useful tool nonetheless.

But now, it was side of 'Light' that held sway over the paper. Without the guiding hand of Draco's father, or the controlling presence of Umbridge, the paper was now leaning towards other power centres.

Or, perhaps a better term would have been 'heroes'.

The paper seemed to follow the _Order of the Phoenix_'s known members around like a bad case of Doxy Dementia; ever-present, but seemingly only noticeable during crucial moments when a clear head is needed. In the present paper, they noted Minerva McGonagall's purchase of a new pair of slippers ('chequered style'), and how Sybill Trelawney had correctly predicted that shares in Moke tails would shrink dramatically overnight, for no apparent reason.

And Harry Potter. Oh how they loved to cover their 'Saviour'.

Potter had appeared in no less than six articles in this latest edition. Naturally, there was a rather extensive article on the weekend's Quidditch, which wouldn't be complete without a mention of Potter's 'skill' with the broom. Then there was a more focused piece on him, all about how the boy was evolving into a man, Draco hadn't even bothered to scan the article. Follow-up article on a study a few months back about the Polyjuice Potion mentioned Potter in passing, and how he'd used it to great effect in the later stages of the war. If they only knew the truth...

The other articles were just as quick to credit the idiot with all manner of praise for doing things that, at the time, they would have ripped him apart for even thinking about.

And that, was exactly what Draco was counting on.

He knew that the media would never immediately latch onto the fact that Potter's unbelievable run of luck, or 'skill' as they'd labelled it, could have been caused by Felix Felicis. Even if someone had thought it, the editors would have quickly taken the offending article out.

Potter was more than just a 'hero' to them. He was more like 'king'.

Draco smirked.

_King_ Potter's reign was close to demise, and it would all be his own doing.

Smirking to himself, Draco got up and crossed the room, picking up a handful of floo powder in the process.

It was time to put in a call to an old _friend_.

* * *

_Falmouth Falcons Lodge Official Complaint to the Department of Magical Games and Sports!_

_By Niall Broomlove_

_Yes! You did read that headline correctly! The Falcons have lodged a formal complaint concerning their last game with the Norwich Flights, and in particular, the conduct of one Harry Potter._

_The Birds of Prey, after going down to the Flights to an embarrassing 200 to nil scoreline, are feeling understandably aggrieved, and only a few hours before this edition of the _Evening Prophet _went to print, they apparently approached the Department of Magical Sports and Games, demanding in investigation into the game._

_The unusually short statement the DMSG released to the public reads as follows:_

"Within the last hour _(17:00 - Ed.)_, a number of official representatives from the professional Quidditch side, the 'Falmouth Falcons', came to our door demanding that the Norwich Flights be immediately disbanded and disqualified from the National Quidditch League, on terms of cheating.

While cheating is not uncommon whilst in-game, and usually punished with a fine or ban, the particular seriousness of the offence that Falcons put forward is indeed worthy of a total and complete ban from the game for all the players involved.

Naturally, we cannot go banning players and staff on the claims of an embarrassed, and possibly hostile opposition side, and therefore we, the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and in conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, will be investigating the claim fully before dishing out any punishments.

Of course, the Norwich Flights will be suspended from play until this investigation is complete, meaning that their upcoming game against the Appleby Arrows will be forfeit by a score of 170 to nil, according to the Morton-Trent rule, assuming that the investigation has not culminated by this time.

At this time we are asking all members of the public to come forward with Omniocular footage of the game, as well as any other recorded evidence. A Floo gate, under the sign of '_Flights verses Falcons_' has been set up, and is awaiting your response.

Thank you for your time._"_

_As the eagle-eyed among you will have noticed, the statement does not name any players. However, a leaked memo from within the DMLE has confirmed that Mr Potter is the main focus of the investigation._

_We will bring you more on this story as we hear it.

* * *

_

Harry Potter shuffled his feet as he approached his front door.

It had been a long night, Thrombi had been working him in training even harder than usual, for obvious reasons, and he was sorely looking forward to slipping into bed and snuggling up next to his favourite hot water bottle. He just hoped his hot water bottle would hug back.

He might be able to sneak a few things past the media, and even the Twins on occasions, but getting _anything_ past Ginny was near impossible. Felix Felicis or no. Especially since she'd used the substance herself, and would therefore know exactly what she would have been looking at last night.

It had been a surprise when she hadn't turned up at the Den after the match on Saturday, but Harry had also been thankful not to get an earful. However, Hermione had given him notice that Ginny was planning on 'talking' tonight.

Harry unconsciously gulped.

As long as she didn't put him in a _full body bind_ as soon as he walked in the room, he'd have a chance to explain himself before she got into her stride...

Perhaps it would be better if he put a _full body bind_ on _her _first...

Harry shuddered at the thought of what she would do once he released her, and he would have to release her eventually.

On second thoughts, perhaps the best course of action was just to sleep on the sofa...

Flicking out his wand from his sleeve, Harry went to tap the doorknob, but what happened next proved that the last of the Felix Felicis had really left his system.

The door seemed to open by itself, but when it had only opened a little way, Harry could see exactly who it was. And it all-but confirmed that the sofa was going to have a resident that night.

"Harry Potter!" the person growled, her crimson hair blazing. "Get inside this instant!"

Unable to disobey, Harry found himself being steered into the living room, and sat in one of the more uncomfortable armchairs.

"What the name of MERLIN did you think you were doing?!" Ginny said, rounding on him.

Harry shrank back, "Gin, I swear..."

"I can't BELIEVE you, Harry!" she carried on, totally oblivious to Harry's pleading, "Do you KNOW what this could do to your career!?

"I... It wasn't... Gin listen..."

"I don't want to hear it, Harry!"

KNOCK KNOCK!!

The two froze. Or rather, Ginny froze in mid-rant, whilst Harry looked more released with the respite than anything.

Before long, the knock came again, and Ginny turned to go into the hall. Harry tried to sigh as quietly as possible, but apparently Ginny heard.

"Don't even THINK of moving!" she said, turning abruptly to point a finger at him, "I'm not finished with you yet, not even close."

Harry nodded in submission before watching his partner leave the room. He listened as her footsteps worked it down the hallway and up to the front door.

Harry leant forward in his chair, resting his head in his hands. Hopefully this would be some travelling salesman, trying to sell them ever-warm mittens like last time. Then he could go about setting Ginny straight. The thought hit him that he better do it quickly, or she'd criticise him for waiting so long.

Either way he was on the sofa...

"Hello," Ginny's voice drifted in from the hall, back to it's normal 'sweetness and nice' tone, "what can I do for you?"

It was a rather gruff male voice that responded. Not a salesman then. "Does Harry Potter live here?" the voice said.

For once, Ginny's voice sounded uncertain. "Who's asking?" she said as Harry started to stand up, his wand already in-hand.

"Primrose," the gruff voice said, sounding nothing like his namesake, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Is Mr Potter in?"

Harry hung his head and shut his eyes, steeling himself against what he was going to do.

This would all be over in a couple of hours. They'd test him for Felix Felicis, find it there, and then he'd produce his alibi for having taken it before.

They couldn't convict him in a million years.

Stepping out into the hallway, he cleared his throat, drawing the attention of Ginny, who opened the door to show a rather short but powerfully build man. The role of law enforcement seemed to suit him down to a tee.

"Yes, I'm right here." he said, "What can I do for you?"

Primrose cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, not a look that suited him particularly well.

"I'm afraid that I've been instructed to bring you in for questioning." he said, shifting from one foot to the other. "You're not under arrest, but if you fail to come with me, I have been instructed to tell you that it will look bad for you if this does come to court."

Harry nodded, "There's no need for that, I'll go." he said, glancing at Ginny, who's demeanour had changed to one of mute horror. "Don't worry about it Gin," he said, sounding a lot more confident than he sounded.

"If I'm not back before morning, tell Ron and Hermione where I am. Don't bother waking them now to tell them. I shouldn't be long anyway." he looked to Primrose questioningly, and received an encouraging nod.

"I shouldn't think so sir," he said with a small smile.

Harry walked to the door, pausing to kiss Ginny lightly on the forehead.

"Don't worry about me Gin, I promise you I've done nothing wrong." She nodded dumbly in response and watched as Harry walked out the door, then disapperate with a pop.

"I know."

* * *

So, what d'you think?

Tell me!!

Chris (aka Fensta)


	7. Legal Entanglements

_Hey there people. As ever, I'm sorry about the wait for this, and I'm afraid to say that this isn't my longest chapter ever. Only about 3,000 words, it's 1,500 less than my 'Par' if you will. However, it does serve it's purpose of setting a few things up._

_In any case, I hope you enjoy what little there is._

_Chris

* * *

_

"No, I've told you three times now, I did not take Felix Felicis in an attempt to cheat!"

Harry Potter sat despondently in one of the Ministry of Magic's many interviewing rooms. He'd been in there for the past four hours, not that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement officers showed their faces until sometime in the past fifty minutes. Making the suspect 'sweat it out' was the techincal term, he believed.

"Then how do you explain the claims that Mr Denine has put forward?" one of the two DMLE officers said, leaning across the table from his seat while the other paced the back wall.

Harry fixed the man with an annoyed stare. "What ever happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

The officer, who was named Wilkinson, smirked. "You've been watching too many muggle tv-shows Mr Potter. The DMLE can hold anyone it wants, and don't go asking for your 'solicitor' either, because I'm afraid you don't have that right either."

Harry, who'd been brought up-to-date with the injustices of the Wizarding legal system by one of Hermione's rants back in Hogwarts, was well aware of the fact, and therefore didn't respond to the comment.

"I didn't do anything wrong, so if you've finished asking me the same questions over and over, I'd appreciate being able to go home to my bed. It is two in the bloody morning!"

The second DMLE officer, the one apparently playing 'good cop', spoke up at this.

"I'm afraid, due to the seriousness of the accusations, we have to hold you here until you can be tested for use of the potion. That is, assuming you consent to being tested."

Harry, being quietly confident in regard to what the test would show, fixed his glare to this second man. "And if I don't consent?" he said.

The man blanched, apparently slightly shocked at the tone of voice. His colleague took over.

"In that case, you'd be placed in one of our holding cells until we could acquire the necessary legal documentation to force you to take the test." He gave Harry a sour look. "There's no wriggling out of this one Mr Potter, 'saviour' or not. You _will_ have to take this test."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his rather uncomfortable chair. "There really is no point," he said, deciding to use his trump card, "I can tell you now that the result will be positive."

A collective gasp went up from the two DMLE officers.

"Then, you admit it?" the bad-cop said, leaning forward in his seat so far that he looked as if he was going to mount the table. Harry gave the man a small smile.

"No, I'm simply admitting having taken Felix Felicis sometime during my youth. The test, as I understand it, will only be able to tell if I've _ever_ taken it, not _when_."

Wilkinson smirked, apparently not particularly worried by this fact. His confidence was such that Harry could feel a knot forming in his stomach. Was there some kind of new test potion?

"A likely story, Mr Potter, and something I've heard many times." Harry secretly thought it was very unlikely that he'd heard it before, considering only a handful of people alive could brew Felix without blowing their own heads off. "But I'm afraid, unless you've got proof of this, the Wizengamot isn't going to believe your statement."

Harry smirked right back at the officer, "What if I had the testimony of the person who supplied me with the potion? Would that count as 'proof'?"

The good-cop, who had stopped pacing and was now casually leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed, spoke up at this.

"You do understand that we can't take evidence like that from friends or family. It just wouldn't be credible for most the Wizengamot."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, bringing the two DMLE officers to look at each other quizzically.

"I can't say I'm that close to Horace." Harry said eventually, "In fact, the last time I saw him was during a trip to Hogwarts last year, he's the Potions master there."

"You mean Slughorn? But, isn't he a member of the Order of the Phoenix?" said Wilkinson, "Just like yourself, meaning you have an obligation to help each other in circumstances like this."

Harry raised his eyebrow. "What gives you that idea?"

"Well..." said Wilkinson, faltering, "that's what secret societies are all about, aren't they?"

"It's hardly a 'secret society'," Harry said, "what with everyone in the wizarding world knowing who we are. Merlin, we get so many applications a day that a whole wing of our HQ is dedicated to destroying the damn things before we get buried in parchment."

"But that doesn't change the fact that members will endeavour to help each other out whenever possible." The second officer said from his position to the side.

"During times of war, perhaps, but they'd never risk doing anything like that over a Quidditch related charge. This is a professional matter that'll get me a ban, not a stint in Askaban, and anyway, I don't need 'helping'. I didn't _do_ anything to need helping with."

Wilkinson harrumphed, "We'll see what the Wizengamot thinks about that."

"I still don't see why this needs to go quite that high. It's not like this is a murder trial or anything."

The DMLE officer narrowed his eyes. "On the contrary Mr Potter. The public take Quidditch very seriously, and therefore does the Wizengamot."

Harry sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to go through with the test. Whoever it had been that gotten him to drink Felix Felicis had a lot to answer for, and finding the bastard would soon be at the top of Harry's priorities, but first he had to get out of this with his career still in one piece.

"Fine, I'll take the damn test, but as I've already said, I can tell you what it'll say."

The good-cop smiled. "Best to do it by the book Mr Potter. Wouldn't want anyone suspecting foul play, now would we?"

* * *

_**Potter Accused of Doping on Luck!**_

_By Niall Lovebroom_

_Late last night, Harry Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, the star Seeker for the Norwich Flights and former Saviour of the Wizarding World, was arrested on charges of doping._

_This unbelievable turn of fortune for the winner of the Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor Award (which has been retracted as of this morning) is ironic considering the substance he's being accused of using; Felix Felicis._

_Also known as 'liquid luck', this is a relatively recently discovered potion that makes the consumer extremely lucky for a number of hours. As such, it has been very closely regulated in terms of sports and other official events, regulated in terms of it being totally illegal, with very harsh penalties to those who do use the substance._

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has reportedly received insider information from staff at the Exmoor Quidditch stadium (where the Seeker ate his last meal before the game) that suggests an insider plot to rig the game, possibly in conjunction with high-risk bets. At this stage, it looks as if the Felix Felicis was used to make sure these very lucrative bets paid off._

_Mr Potter, under questioning, has reportedly admitted that he has indeed taken the potion in his past, but denies having taken it the day in question. The Seeker openly allowed himself to be tested for the potion, which simply proved that Potter had taken the potion some time in his life._

_An offical investigation had been started into the incident, but Potter has been released at this point, due to lack of evidence._

_We'll bring you more as we hear it!_

Draco sniggered, dropping the paper into a rubbish bin as he passed it on the street. Things were going better than he'd hoped. He had no idea where they got the idea that Potter was involved with high-risk betting scandals, but it was something that certainly gave the whole thing a little credibility. Those Weasley twins were well known for their gambling against impossible odds, and if Draco played his cards right, perhaps he could drop three birds with one stone; The Falcons, Potter and the Weasleys.

He stalked down the snowy street, his mind whirring with possible ways to exaggerate the situation, and almost didn't notice as he brushed roughly past a rather tightly-wrapped up man. Ignoring the man as he stumbled into a nearby wall, Draco turned into the next side-street.

The thickly-cloaked man turned to look back down the street to find the young man gone. His scarf had come partially loose, unveiling a hooked nose that anyone who knew him would recognise.

Unperturbed by Draco's disappearance, the man shook his head and continued his way down the street, re-covering his nose before it got too cold. There was no one else on the street, but if there were, they might have heard the man mumble something under his breath.

"Interesting..."

* * *

Ronald Weasley swore as he stepped out of the Floo, and right into the back of a stumbling Harry Potter. 

"Bloody hell, Harry!" he said, offering a hand to the Seeker, who was now getting up off the floor.

"It's not my fault!" the boy countered as he took his friend's hand, "If you'd wait a few seconds for me to get out the way before coming through, you wouldn't walk into me like that."

Behind them, the Floo flared again, revealing a bushy head of brown hair as the flames subsided. Naturally, she walked straight into her finance, who was pushed into Harry, who once again found himself sprawled on the floor.

"What're you doing down there Harry?" she said, looking down at her friend as if he were sitting there by choice.

Harry and Ron exchanged a long suffering look, before Ron helped the Seeker back to his feet a second time.

"Now come on," Hermione said, striding past the pair towards the newly erected '_Statue to the Fallen_' that replaced the destroyed bronze fountain in the Ministry of Magic, "You don't want to be late today Harry."

Harry groaned, thinking about the appearance he'd been summoned to, in front of the Wizengamot. He was sure he had a pretty watertight case, despite the fact that he'd actually been caught red-handed, but he was still nervous.

Ron and Harry quickly caught up with the Unspeakable, falling into step just behind her. It was one of the perks of being friends with an Unspeakable; everyone in the ministry tended to get out their way. Not that they didn't get out the way for Harry; the 'Boy-Who-Survived', or Ron; one of the most prolific Aurors ever, despite his still being a junior in the organisation. It was just that Hermione had gained the air of superiority that came with the title of 'Unspeakable', and after years of practice being the brains of the organisation that was the Golden Trio, she knew how to use it.

The three passed by the golden statue, pausing to remember those inscribed on the wings of the Phoenix as it rose from a golden fire. It had been the Wizarding world's way of paying their respect to the Order of the Phoenix. Every single member that perished had been hand-scribed into the wings of the great golden bird, one name per feather. At the time of unveiling, Harry had been slightly taken aback at the shear numbers of lives taken from the Order, but on reflection, Harry had decided that over the two wars, they were simply lucky that there weren't any more names adorning the Phoenix to which they'd given their lives.

They moved passed the statue, then the reception desk where Harry and Ron had their wands checked. Hermione's job came with more perks than people simply moving out of her way. In no time, they found themselves down in the corridor leading to the courtrooms. They were met there by a Purple-haired Auror, and a grizzled man who's grey hairs gave him an almost 'wolfish' appearance.

"Wotcher, Harry!" the Auror called out, waving enthusiastically at the scarred Seeker.

"Hi Tonks," Harry said, nodding his head to her, and then her companion, "Remus."

The werewolf grinned down at his best-friend's son, "It's good to see you, Harry. I just wish it was under better circumstances."

Harry nodded in agreement, before hugging the man. "If I'd known you were back from Albania, nothing could have stopped me inviting you over. As it is, I don't think I've got much to worry about. Slughorn might not like being called into an official investigation, what with his dubious past, but I can't imagine him turning down an opportunity to have something to hold over my head."

Ron and Tonks sniggered, whilst Hermione looked on disapprovingly.

"This isn't a laughing matter, Ron!" she said, choosing her usual target. As the couple went into the motions of another argument, Harry caught Remus' eye.

"And you _live_ with these two?" Remus said under his breath to Harry as they watched Ron go through the emotions of 'taken aback' to 'downright offended' in less than a second.

Harry grimaced as he saw the argument go into 'stage three' as he'd coined it; where Hermione started fingering her wand in a threatening manner.

"Yeh, well, they're getting married soon aren't they. Hopefully they'll want their own space and move out within the year. Merlin knows they earn enough between them to get their own place."

It seemed both Remus and Tonks had noticed Hermione's wand by this stage and, unused to the bickering pair, were looking slightly uneasy. Harry decided to leave them to it.

"Well," he said, "I need to get going, I believe they're waiting for me." Remus gave him a slightly panicked look as Ron took out his own wand, but Harry just smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry," he said, clapping the werewolf on the shoulder as he passed, "As long as you stay out the way, you've got nothing to worry about. Ron knows what he's doing."

Remus gave him another panicked look, but Harry was gone, and had already reached the solid wooden door that was the entrance to the courtroom before Remus could call him back.

Naturally, the door was guarded by two DMLE officers. One of them towered over Harry, looking down at the young Seeker with a mixture of suspicion and concealed awe. The other was less subtle, and at only half Harry's height, Harry felt as if he was meeting a twelve-year-old Quidditch fan. Out of habit he found himself tempted to ask if the man wanted an autograph. He only just managed to stop himself, shuddering at the shocking similarities between himself and Lockhart, before his 'accident' anyway.

Distracting himself from the situation as he waited to be called in, Harry looked back down the corridor, and while he could no longer see the commotion, he could still hear Hermione's high-pitched tones trading blows with Ron's baritone exclamations. After a few seconds there were two flashes of light, pink and green, before an almost deathly silence.

Harry chuckled to himself as he imagined Remus and Tonk's faces; it would be the same face that everyone had on their first showing of a Weasley-Granger match-up. That of absolute terror.

Their first ever 'real' fight had been during their hunt for Horcruxes. They'd been in Tunisia, looking for the tomb of a long-dead dark lord, and Ron had accidentally mentioned something about how he'd rather be having breakfast than breaking into a muggle library at five in the morning.

Harry, thinking it would be one of their usual scuffles, paid it no attention until he turned around to find the pair holding their wands on each other. It was inevitable, he assured himself at the time, that eventually there would be a little in-fighting due to stress, but it was still a little disconcerting to actually see it happen, especially in the middle of a time-sensitive mission, where they had to leave no trace of their presence.

Harry listened as he heard voices once again sound from down the corridor, a door opening and then the voices disappear with the clunk of the door closing once more.

So that was it, just him left, along with his 'escort' of course. Before long, a knock came at his own door, and one of the DMLE officers, the tall one, opened it. He exchanged a few muffled words with someone on the other side, and then turned back to Harry.

"It's time." he said simply, pushing the door open to reveal the oval shaped room with an ominously chained chair sitting centre stage.

Harry swallowed, stepping into the courtroom that would surely decide his future in sport.

* * *

_Hah, doesn't that just sound like a cliffe... It's not really, but it is in a way I suppose. Anyway, as I said, sorry about the length, I'll endeavour to make the next instalment a little longer than 'Par' to make it up to yous._

_Thank you for reading, and an extra special thank you to those who are about to review. They really do mean a lot to me and my motivation takes a real hype when I receive them. I do also listen to people if they correct me anywhere, so please don't keep silent if you do want to make a complaint about my writing concerning grammatical or content errors._

_Feedback can only help be grow as a writer! (Although it can also grow my head too...)_

_Chris_


	8. The Lift and the Lack of Charm

_Hi there people. Another month, another chapter. I quite enjoyed writing this one for some reason. It's not perfect, but then again, I'm no perfect writer._

_All I ask is that you enjoy it._

_Chris

* * *

_

Ginny growled as she pushed her way through the crowd that had gathered in the ministry's lobby. Harry's hearing, for that was all it was at this stage, was meant to have been a private and _secret _affair, but the papers, and the _Prophet _in particular, had always been able to sniff these sorts of things out.

And so, Ginny was forced to scrap her way to the front desk, where the distracted witch on duty quickly waved her through with only a cursory glance at Ginny's wand.

Once inside the main hallway, Ginny's path was much clearer. At 17, Ginny was of age, and was therefore legally able to wander the ministry without suspicion, not that she was wandering today; she knew exactly where she was going. Heading straight over to the main lifts, Ginny quickly jumped into the nearest as it closed. A few seconds later she wished she'd waited for the next one.

"Miss Weasley," a voice said, "To what does the ministry owe for your trespassing?"

Setting her face straight, as it had reverted into a grimace at the sound of the man's voice, Ginny turned to face her old Professor, trying to remind herself that this man was no longer her enemy, and that Ron probably wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for this him.

"Hello, Severus." she said, the man's name feeling like a bad taste in her mouth. Despite this, she turned to meet the man with what she hoped was a confident smile. Naturally, Snape's face stayed stoic as ever.

"I believe it is customary to continue to call your old Professors by their title, Miss Weasley," he sneered, leaning back against the wall of the lift in a very un-Snapeish show of causality.

"We thought up quite a few 'titles' for you _sir_," Ginny said, narrowing her eyes a little and letting her tone of voice carry off the threat, "You really wouldn't want to hear what I'd have to say."

Snape remained as un-flustered as ever. "Don't try to intimidate me Miss Weasley, you'd be wasting your breath. After the Dark Lord, your attempts would be nothing more than a minor annoyance." He sighed and straightened, reaching into his robes for a silver flask and taking a swig if it before replacing it back into the depths of his person. "But, I tire of this topic. I assume you're here to support your lover."

Ginny blinked, her expression telling the man all he needed to know, despite the fact that he already knew it.

"Don't be so surprised Miss Weasley," he said smugly, "Potter is as lax as ever with this Occumency; his mind is like an open book to me. Admittedly, it's a very boring book, full of clichés and plot holes, but there is still some information in there that I find of interest."

Getting over her initial shock, Ginny felt her temper rising. "How _dare_ you invade Harry's mind!" she hissed, "Don't you have any sense of personal privacy?!"

Snape snorted, "If I never looked into that boy's head again, it would be too soon. The fact of the matter, Miss Weasley, is that Potter _asked_ me to check his shields before today's hearing." Ginny's eyebrows rocketed up into her hairline, making Snape grin smugly, "Something, I gather, he didn't tell you about."

Ginny's head spun. What was Harry _thinking_?! For that matter, was Harry thinking at all? Evidence gathered using Veritiserum or Legimency was inadmissible as evidence in the Wizengamot due to it's forced eviction from the accused. And even if it was admissible, he'd as good as told her that he'd done nothing that could land him in trouble the other night. So what did he have to be worried about? All he'd managed to do was alert Snape to their on-going relationship and Merlin knew what else that was in his head.

"W-why. Why would he do that?" Ginny managed to stutter out. Snape smirked once more.

"I believe it's called lack of _trust_..." he started to say, but Ginny cut him off with a glare. It wasn't that she didn't agree with him, but she wasn't about to tell the git that.

"I meant about letting you into his head!" she said, "Who could he possibly be worried about slipping up in front of?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, "I thought you'd have more sense than to assume that the Dark Lord and myself are the only ones capable of braking into the pathetic shields that Potter protects his mind with. In my opinion, seeking me out is the first smart move Potter has made in the past year or so." At this, he gave Ginny a very conspicuously disapproving look, which Ginny promptly ignored.

"And anyway," Ginny continued, "It's not like Harry has anything to hide. Sure, he had to do a few illegal things during the war, but they won't be looking for those, not that the pubic would let them get away with punishing Harry for anything he did in the war. As far as I can see, even if they did get into his mind, there's nothing in there that could land him in trouble."

Ginny watched in mute horror as Snape's smirk seemed to grow a few centimetres.

"He hasn't told you what really happened..." Snape said, enjoying the look on his former student's face, "Curious. I wonder why _perfect Potter_ didn't tell his girlfriend that he took Felix Felicis in a sporting event..."

Ginny's head spun. "B-but he told me he did nothing wrong!"

Snape simply smiled back at her as the lift came to a stop and the doors opened with a chime, a witch's voice announcing something about the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures and the Accidental Magic Response Unit.

"My stop." Snape said simply, and promptly strolled out the lift, leaving Ginny staring at his retreating back as the doors closed once more, her head swirling with more than a few questions.

* * *

"...so you still stick to your original story; that you had no knowledge of taking the Felix Felicis that was in your system at the time of the match?"

Harry frowned, shaking his head for what had to be the seventh time in as many minutes. "No, that isn't my story, 'original' or otherwise." he answered, trying to keep calm despite the blatant attempts by this rather persistent member of the Wizengamot to lead him into incriminating himself.

He sighed, breaking eye contact with the man to regain some sense of calm, and was rewarded with the view of Ginny as she entered at the back of the observation stands. These stands, where the general wizarding public sat to watch proceedings, occupied a ledge higher up the oval-shaped room, forming a balcony where the public could watch potentially dangerous criminals in safety. Harry's eyes caught with Ginny's for the briefest of seconds before he turned back to the Wizengamot to go about setting the record straight for the third time.

"_My_ story is that I never touched the substance. I can categorically state that no Felix Felicis, Irish Brew, or even a Four Leafed clover passed my lips on the day of the match."

The bearded 'prosecution' looked down at Harry with narrowed eyes. "How can you be so sure?"

Harry smirked back up at the man. "With all due respect," he said, "If you'd ever taken the potion, you'd know that the feeling of euphoria it induces is unmistakable, and seeing as I _have_ taken it before, I believe that makes me the expert on the matter here." he crossed his arms over his chest. "And as an expert, I can tell you that there was no Felix Felicis in my system that day, or any day since my 6th year at Hogwarts in early 1997. An event that I believe my whiteness has already confirmed to have happened."

Harry smiled up at his interrogator, receiving a sour look in return before the man sat himself down.

"Are there any other questions for mister Potter?" said the Chief Warlock said from his seat in the middle of the Wizengamot stand. Normally, the entire Wizengamot was rarely seen for any case below that of a Death Eater trial, but, as usually happened when Harry was involved, the entire compliment of 52 was present. Harry was glad to see however, that no other Wizengamot member decided to stand up and question him, although that last wizard was still giving him a venomous look. Perhaps deciding to be 'cheeky' wasn't his best way of defending himself...

"Good, good." said the Chief Warlock, an unremarkable but cheery man named Brayden McKormac who'd 'inherited' the title from Dumbledore back in '97, and that nobody seemed to want to replace. "In that case, shall we get down to it then? Votes in favour of a _Guilty_ verdict?"

Harry watched with dread as movement caught his eye amongst the purple-clad Wizengamot, but let out a breath as obviously less than half of the Witches and Wizards that made up the council put their hands up. All the same, Harry couldn't help but notice the man who'd just been questioning him, his hand raised confidently in the air.

"Good," said McKormac, taking a look around with his perpetual smile, "and the 'Nays'?"

Harry felt his lips forming a huge smile as most of the remainder of the council raised their hands to much nodding and mumbling. He caught Ginny's eye, expecting to find some sort of congratulations, but instead found her to be strangely subdued. He gave her an inquisitive look, but was distracted back to the Wizengamot by McKormac's voice.

"You, Harry James Potter, are hereby cleared of all charges and suspicion of using a banned substance during a sporting event, by a majority vote of 36 to 10, with 6 abstaining. You are therefore also cleared on the charge of rigging a sporting event with the intention to profit through gambling." The man smiled kindly down on Harry, making Harry feel as if he were back in first year, and not a 19-year-old professional sportsman and conqueror of the Dark Lord Voldemort. "You are free to leave."

With that, the door to the main corridor spontaneously opened, coinciding with a simultaneous cheer from a crowd on the other side. How they knew he'd been let off, Harry didn't know, but he was immensely grateful for the support.

_'It sure makes a change from my '_Harry the Madman_' image.' _he though as he walked through the door, and into a corridor of flashing cameras and shouted questions.

* * *

Harry's mood was still on-high later that evening. The entire Weasley clan, those that had survived the war in any case, had turned out to congratulate Harry on his success in the Wizengamot. Naturally, the twins had set off a few of their newest long-life fireworks in the Ministry during the impromptu press conference, causing slightly more than a panic as a life-sized dragon made to eat the entire press core, only to pass harmlessly through them and onward into the depths of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

Early reports suggested that the Dragon was still there.

Eventually, the group, which included Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks at this point, made their way back to the relative safety of the Burrow. By now, the press had worked out that their 'saviour' spent an inordinate amount of time at the Weasley's residence, and sometime during the previous year, Bill had been forced to add a few extra wards to the building's foundations. Harry had later found out that the eldest Weasley son had incorporated some of the Egyptian-style traps he'd tackled over the years into the wards if anyone tried to break them. Originally aimed at stopping retaliatory Death Eaters from entering, Harry just hoped that the press had the common sense not to try and break in. It was on this topic that Harry found himself discussing with the Twins.

"Can you remember those mummies, from when we went to the Pyramids? Imagine opening the boom shed and finding one of the Daily Prophet's reporters falling out, wrapped in bandages?" Said Fred, now clearly identifiable by the small scar over his left cheekbone, an injury he'd received during his time with the Order.

George, now identifiable by a similar scar over his right cheekbone, scoffed, "Forget the bandages! It would be the fact that it would be trying to kill me that would get me running!"

"Do they really do that?" Harry said, frowning, "I thought that was just muggles making things up."

Both Fred and George laughed, "Oh no, mate," George said, "A side effect of the curse they're placed under means that they get insatiable appetites..."

"Kinda like Ron," Fred chimed in.

"Indeed, dear brother of mine. But, unlike Ron, these mummies haven't eaten anything in millennia, and have no qualms about taking a nice juicy bit out of the closest foodstuff."

"Err, that would be you, Harry." Fred concluded, for the sake of completeness it seemed.

"Yeh, thanks." Harry said, turning his attention away as the twins went onto the topic of some of the more gruesome and flesh-eating protection curses. The group had arrived back at the Burrow only a few moments ago through the Floo, and were now spread out across the plushly reconstructed Burrow living room. The layout had changed, Harry noted, from his memory of the place during his many visits in the past, but so had the family.

It had been the Halloween of 1997, right at the start of Harry, Ron and Hermione's hunt for the Horcruxes that the Burrow had been attacked in Tom Riddle's annual torment of Harry. The entire family had been inside, including the trio, and they'd managed to put up quite a fight, but they simply weren't ready to go up against Voldemort at that point, and the Burrow was very quickly taken by the Dark Lord. It was only the extremely brave and self-sacrificing action taken by the Weasley patriarch, Arthur, that allowed the remainder of his family to escape unharmed.

The loss of Arthur Weasley was a shock not only for his family, but the rest of the Order too. His ever-optimistic approach to life had kept the fighting spirit of the Order alive after Dumbledore's demise at the hands of their ex-colleague, Severus Snape. It had taken the group a long time to accept his death, but by rallying around Harry, the Order eventually found their focus again and set out to end the life that had already taken so much from them, the life known as 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'.

The Burrow was rebuilt approximately three months after Riddle's demise, the family once again coming together to start their lives over, but vowing never to forget those they had lost, Percy now amongst that number too. It had been a sombre experience, but the family had been brought closer together as a result, and their resolve had never been stronger.

Harry's gaze swept the room, coming to rest every so often on a group of people deep in conversation; Remus and Hermione were obviously discussing the inner-workings of the Wizading legal system by their serious faces. Nearby, Ron and Charlie were apparently talking very animatedly about the twin's firework dragon, and Tonks, Fleur and Mrs Weasley were quite blatantly talking about Ron and Hermione's up-coming wedding, as their eyes kept flicking over to the engaged couple.

Harry's eyes lingered on Mrs Weasley for a little while, glad to see the witch finally smiling properly again. The loss she'd felt over her husband's death had been a hundredfold greater than anyone else, Harry knew. Her greatest fear had been realised more than once during both wars, and there was only so much one soul could take. While the papers had reported Harry's apparent instability, Harry had actually been much more concerned about the Weasley matriarch. They'd lost Percy right at the end of the war, and without Molly having had time to get over her husband's death, the demise of her son, a son who she'd never really managed to reconcile with in the first place, they had been dark times for the eldest of the Weasley clan.

Almost as a reflex, Harry's eyes slipped to the only quiet member of the Weasley family. Ginny was sitting on one of the small but comfy sofas that dotted the snug living room, apparently deep in thought.

It had been Ginny who had helped her mother through possibly the darkest time in her life. At the time, Harry had been in awe of the young woman who had lost just as much as her mother, but still had the strength to be there. Ginny had always said 'he' was the one that showed her that there were still things to live for, and she'd simply shown her mother the same thing, but Harry hadn't seen this at all. The way he saw it, Ginny was 'his' reason to go on, not the other way around. He was completely taken with the girl he considered to be his rock.

A small smile playing across his lips, Harry excused himself from the twins (who had moved onto scheming about using sphinxes in their products), and made his way over to the lone Weasley, sitting down next to her, but leaving enough space as to not alert the rest of the room of their relationship, as they were all (with notable exceptions) still ignorant.

"Hey you," he said, distracting her from her thoughts, "you're very quiet tonight."

Ginny gave him a small but sad smile, "To tell you the truth, I'm not very happy at the moment."

Harry frowned. This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting, what with him just getting off some very serious charges.

"W-why?" he said, "What's wrong? Aren't you happy for me?"

Ginny's sad smile fell away, and Harry was relieved to see a genuine smile appear from beneath it. "Of course I'm happy for you, Harry. I'm ecstatic that you won't spend the next few months locked up in Azkaban." Harry felt a smile make it's was back onto his face, only for it to fall away when Ginny's face turned back to it's previous state, only this time, it had a hint of disappointment in it too.

"Gin?"

She sighed and looked away, apparently surveying the room for eavesdroppers. After a few moments of silence, which felt much longer to Harry than they really were, Ginny spoke again.

"We need to talk," she said simply as she gracefully got up from the sofa and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Assuming he was meant to follow suit, Harry cast a quick look around the room to check for prying eyes before quickly following the redhead out of the room.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't managed to spot the two pairs of identical eyes that had noticed the entire exchange.

* * *

_**Potter Cleared! Flights Cleared for Take-off!**_

_By Niall Lovebroom_

_Earlier this afternoon, Harry Potter, Order of Merlin 1st Class, Captain and Seeker of the Norwich Flights, was cleared of all charges by a Wizengamot majority of thirty six votes to ten. This overwhelming result has been enough for the coaching staff of the Falmouth Falcons to retract their original accusation._

_This reporter was present at the hearing, and can tell you now that the Falcons had no firm evidence against the young Seeker, in what was shown to be an almost childish show of bad sportsmanship by the team from the south-coast. Meanwhile, Potter's explanation of events, and the evidence he put forward in defence, was more than enough for this reporter, and the vast majority of the Wizengamot, to show that he was, indeed, 'not guilty' of any of the ridiculous charges set against him. This reporter would like to point out his own unwavering support for Potter throughout his career (Me too! - Ed.)._

_As a direct result, Mr Potter has actually managed to 'gain' supporters, with the Flights' next game against the Appleby Arrows has already sold out, despite it's location in Britain's most northern stadium on the Scottish island of Lewis and Harris._

_Of course, this upcoming game was always going to be low on spare tickets as the Flights take on their first ever opponents once again. With the added tension of French Keeper 'Tomas Devoir' having jumped the Arrow's ship at the end of last season to join the Flights, and the uninspiring performance of either side during the season's opening match, both teams will be out to prove their worth._

_Potter, in particular, will be out to show the world exactly what he can do, and with all the extra security precautions that the Flights are sure to set on the boy, there will be no copying of the Falcons in trying to accuse the opposition of cheating if the Arrows are faced with defeat. Not that this reporter is biased in any way._

_As a closing statement, this reporter (and Ed - Ed.) would like to congratulate Mr Potter on his successful defence. I always knew you never did it!

* * *

_

It was with an awkward silence that Harry sat down next to Ginny on her bed a few minutes later. The girl had yet to utter another syllable, but Harry could just tell he was in some kind of trouble. _What_ that trouble was, he couldn't quite put his finger on, but that made him feel ten times worse. Luckily, or unluckily as the case may have been, he didn't have to wait long to find out what it was.

"You lied to me." Ginny said in a small voice. Harry's head snapped round to hers in an instant.

"I never!"

Naturally, this wasn't the response Ginny was hoping for. She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You told me you'd done nothing wrong! Nothing illegal!"

Harry blanched, but recovered quickly. "I never lied to you." he said softly, in an attempt to calm the red-head that was slowly escalating in volume with every word. "Now, who have you been listening to, and what exactly have they told you?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry knew he'd been royally caught out. After his 'interrogation', Harry had spent the night back in his room with Ginny. She'd asked him what had happened, but Harry was so put out with answering that particular question so many times in a day that he'd made a quick change of subject and managed to tell her next to nothing. He hadn't lied, but at the same time, he hadn't really told her anything of importance either. Whatever this stranger had to say, however, couldn't be very big anyway, because the only people who knew the important truths were keeping them to themselves.

"What does it matter _who_!?" she said, her voice menacing, but mercifully quiet. "What matters is that they told me things that _you _tried to keep secret from me."

Harry shook his head, holding his hands up in a placating manner. "Gin," Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously at the sound of her pet-name, Harry quickly noted not to use it for a while, "I'm not trying to keep secrets!"

"Then how come you didn't tell me last night that you _had_ taken Felix Felicis?"

Harry's jaw dropped open in astonishment. How could she have found that out? Who could she have spoken to? And why did that sound so much like an accusation?

"Just a sec," Harry said, his head just figuring out what the tone in Ginny's voice was telling him, "you think I took it on purpose!"

This was, of course, taken the wrong way, "So you _did_ take it!"

"Yes, Ginny!" Harry said heatedly, getting annoyed with the direction the conversation was going in. "Yes! I did go onto the pitch with Felix Felicis in my system! Is that what you want to hear?"

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd deny it." Ginny said, her demeanour suddenly changed. Now she seemed more disappointed, even a little disgusted. "I thought I knew you better than that, Harry."

With that, she stood and stalked over to her door, but she didn't exit. Instead, she opened it and stepped aside, looking back at Harry expectantly.

"What're you going Ginny?" Harry said, folding his arms across his chest and making no move to stand, "Sending me to my room to think about what I've done?"

Again, Ginny's eyes narrowed at him. "Don't think this is funny, Harry, because it isn't."

"Do you see me laughing?"

Ginny frowned, apparently thinking. "Are you going to be truthful with me?" she asked eventually. Harry felt like laughing, but mercifully thought better of it.

"I've never been untruthful to you, and I don't intend to start now." he said instead, as sincerely as he could under the circumstances.

"In that case, do you promise to tell me everything then? Omitting nothing!" she added, a finger raised in warning.

Harry sighed, a small smile slipping onto his face at the thought of how Ginny would feel after she heard his side of the story.

"I promise." he said, nodding his head, "but only if you let me tell the whole thing without interrupting me. You can't judge me with half the facts."

It didn't take long for Ginny to make up her mind. "Deal." she said simply, pushing the door closed and locking it. "Now, start talking."

Harry frowned, thinking about where to start, but all he could think about was that when he found out who this informant was, they were going to see a side of Harry Potter that only one unfortunate Slytherin had seen.

And Riddle was now dead...

* * *

Fred and George looked at each other as they retracted their extendible ears. It was a very rare occurrence when neither Harry or their sister remembered to cast Imperturbable Charms around the doors they were talking behind, but when it happened, interesting things always seemed to crop up.

"Should have been guilty?" Fred said.

"Snape?" George replied.

"_Harry and Ginny_?!" they said together.

Without another word, they re-extended their ears, who knew what else they could learn...

* * *

Draco Malfoy sighed as he led back in a beautifully crafted chez lounge, a yellowing copy of the _Evening Prophet _lying haphazardly nearby on the redwood panelled flooring.

It hadn't been a bad day, he supposed. Sure, Potter had gotten off the charges of doping, and of the unforeseen game-rigging charges too, but that wasn't something that Draco hadn't been suspecting anyway. In fact, he was almost _glad _that Potter was free.

It made the game that much more interesting.

The seed of doubt had been planted in the minds of the general public, and in the Quidditch world too, and that was the entire point of 'Phase I', as Draco now called it.

Next was 'Phase II'. It would be a little harder to pull off, but Draco was quietly confident of his own abilities.

_'Actually,' _he decided, _'this'll be fun!'

* * *

_

_So, how was that? Some legal stuff there... some history for you guys... and even some manipulating by Snape! What else could you want in a chapter?! Quidditch? Well, possibly, but just wait a short while. There is guaranteed Quidditch in the next chapter! Joy!_

_There should be the answer to all you people who were going on about how Draco should've known about Harry being able to get away with it. He planned it that way! Ahh yes, Draco is just as scheming as ever, and he's gunna keep you guessing the entire way!_

_And yes, the twins know! Let the fun begin! evil laugh_

_So, review and keep my spirits up! Please? I could do with that right about now..._

_Chris_


	9. The Good, the Bad, and the Ecstatic

_Hey everyone. Remember me? I'm that guy who writes when he's putting off something else, like an exam on ship stability at 1400 the next day... Hmm..._

_Anyway, I do apologise for the (two year) wait. I've been a lazy git, and I know it. There's a real reason as to why I didn't finish this story, but it would take at least a few thousand words to explain, so I won't bother._

_However, the reason I decided to 'continue' with this story is more interesting. As well as feeling that this story had too much good going for it to let go to waste, I was browsing the other day and I came across a directory for fanfiction that had this story on record. Next to the title, however, was the word 'ABANDONED'. That annoyed me a little bit, to think that I'd abandon anything, especially something that I was proud of, so I vowed to at least try to finish this story. It's my way of spiting whoever it was that labelled it as such._

_So, without further ado, here's chapter nine of 'Flights of Fancy' – A Harry Potter fanfiction._

* * *

Harry ducked as Ez streaked by, just inches from his head. Looking about, he swerved to avoid a Bludger before diving down to ground level in an attempt to get out of the fierce battle of Bludgers, Quaffles and over-enthusiastic Beaters that was the middle of the pitch.

Letting out a breath he didn't realise he'd held, Harry let himself relax a little. It had been a hard match so far. The Appleby strategy involved using the speed of their players, and when they were being helped on by some of the most advanced racing brooms on the market, it was a tactic that generally worked for them.

Of course, the Flights had a few tactics of their own, and one of them was named Robin Akins. The young Beater had really come into his own in this match. Being just as fast and agile as any Seeker, coupled with his accuracy with the bat, the Arrows' Chasers were having trouble going _anywhere_ fast.

The effort on his part was the main reason why the score was tipping in their favour, just. It was 70 to 50, but that was after three hours of play. To say the game was going slowly would be an understatement, but apparently it was exciting to watch. The commentators wouldn't shut up at any rate.

"_Oh, and a nice offhand by McGreggor to Tamblin there!_" said one of them, Lucas Vink. He was a generally nice fellow, but had a bit of a grudge against the Italians. Ironic, when he was always partnered with one of the most colourful Italian commentators around, Fabio Agostinetti.

"_Yes, I must agree!_" said Fabio, his 'r's rolling excessively, "_Just like-a my home country's star Chaser, Ramond Ramon!_"

Naturally, his commentator parter disagreed. "_Oh please!_" he exclaimed, Harry couldn't see the commentary box from his position on the pitch, but he smiled as he imagined Vink giving his colleague a disdainful look, "_Ramon couldn't preform a left-handed pass on the ground, let alone a reverse pass whilst in the middle of a Woollongong Shimmy._"

Harry shook his head, tuning out the men and putting on a burst of speed to carry him spiralling up above the eastern end of the pitch. He watched as Robin made another excellent Bludger shot, sending one of the Arrows' Chasers, Parkinson, swerving dangerously towards a spectator stand. The Quaffle came loose, and was quickly scooped up by Ez as she trailed behind the stricken Chaser. She veered sharply down, using a modification of the Sloth Grip Roll to quickly change direction.

Averting his eyes from the battle as Ez and Rob bared down on the Arrows' goal, Harry looked around eagerly for the Snitch.

In all three hours, the Snitch had been reluctant to show itself. Once, he thought he'd seen a flicker over by the top box, but it turned out to be some rich aristocrat's golden button. Harry realised that he'd probably be forced to meet this person later on, so he reluctantly stopped himself from snatching the button right off the man's jacket. Not that the guy didn't deserve it. Who wears glittering gold _anything_ to a Quidditch match anyway?

A loud cheer drew Harry out of his thoughts, and he quickly identified Ez high-fiving Luci as the pair withdrew back to their own half of the pitch. A quick glance at the scoreboard was enough to confirm his thoughts as one of the commentators tapped it with their wand, changing the 70 for 80.

The ref's whistle sounded not long after, and the match was underway once more. The Arrows went on the immediate offensive, Tomas having to pull off a number of outstanding saves to keep the score as it was. This was a special match for him of course, the Arrows being his former team. He'd been their star player for years, almost 5 seasons, but dropped unceremoniously when the Arrows' owner had bought one of the most famous Quodpot keepers of all time in from America.

William Kinnap was older than Tomas, but his skills as a youngster had secured him a place in the world famous Salem Sabres, helping them on their way to seven years at the top of the Quodpot league. When he'd eventually retired from the (arguably) more dangerous game, Kinnap had taken over Tomas' place in the Arrows team.

To say Tomas had been angry with the decision would have been the understatement of the century. When the opportunity to move to a new team appeared to him, with guaranteed time on the first-team, Tomas didn't even need to think about it.

And right now, the Arrows were probably regretting ever letting him go.

"_And that's another outstanding save by Devoir! Truly bellissimo!_" Agostinetti cried, letting his Italian flamboyancy carry him away. Harry heard Vink give an exasperated sigh, but didn't say anything other than to commentate on the new Flights' attack.

"_Robinson passes to Porter, who quite cleverly drops the ball down to Macclesfield. Robert Macclesfield, of course, lined up with Luci Porter for England selection in the upcoming international game against Iceland..._"

Harry tuned out once more as he dodged both Bludgers in quick succession. A very grumpy looking Timothei screamed past him in pursuit of the balls. Harry caught him mumbling darkly under his breath in Russian, and whilst Harry's Russian was less than poor, he could probably have an intelligent guess at it having something to do with the fact that the man had hardly any contact with the iron balls all game. The other Beaters, Robin included, we just too fast. None had his power with the bat, but that hardly mattered when he couldn't use it.

Swooping down low, Harry weaved his way through the pack of players, ducking again as one of Timothei's newly acquired Bludgers narrowly missed him on the way to one of the Arrow's Chasers. Harry smirked as he heard the woman shout some sort of expletive as the ball caught the tail end of her broom, making her spin wildly towards the ground.

Harry, smiling as he watched Timothei's other Bludger hit it's mark, levelled out as he reached _Terra Firma_, letting the tips of his shoes drag softly through the grass, or in the case of this pitch, bramble bushes.

The Lewis and Harris Quidditch pitch, up in the far north of Scotland, was well renowned for it's extreme conditions, and that included the pitch itself too. Larger than the Hogwarts' pitch, just, it appeared also to be 200 years older, and six times more rickety. Harry had quickly decided that the pitch actually had no groundsman, or if it did, the man had been on holiday for the past 50 years. In any case, it was one of the worst maintained in the League. Only the little-used 'Crab Rock' stadium off the coast of Kent was worse – it was so remote that the owners couldn't be bothered to actually maintain it at all...

A cheer erupted from the northern stand, and Harry looked up to see the score now at 80 – 60. He swore, but burned off his frustration with a quick burst of speed around his own goalposts. There was a small gasp from the crowd, but the excitement soon died down when Harry returned to normal cruising speed. He did have to dodge both Bludgers once again, however.

The match was quickly restarted, Luci carrying the ball down the right hand side of the pitch, at one point actually flying through a rather large hole in the spectator stand. She was met by a Bludger on exiting the hole, and was forced to drop the Quaffle and put both hands on her broom to swerve out of the way.

The Bludger went screaming into the seating supports, sending splintering wood flying everywhere, but amazingly the stand remained exactly that, standing. Magic no-doubt having a large part to do with its continued existence.

Patricia Parkinson, one of the Appleby Chasers (and a second cousin to Pansy Parkinson) picked up the ball as it floated back to earth, setting off at a rate of knots towards Tomas and his goals. Robin managed to fire a Bludger at the woman, but she easily shrugged it off, using the motion to set herself up to shoot.

Tomas caught the shot quite comfortably, and quickly distributed it out to Rob, who decided to take it low down the middle. He was joined by Ez within moments of being unsuccessfully tackled by Tamblin, another of the Appleby Chasers. Rob passed the Quaffle over to his team-mate as soon as Tamblin came in for another attempt.

Ez caught the ball expertly, dodging a Bludger at the same time, and accelerated off down the pitch. She zig-zagged down the stadium, fighting off a few tackles along the way before reverse passing the Quaffle to Luci as she finally caught up with the action again.

Luci ducked under Ez, using her as a human shield as McGreggor, the last and youngest Chaser on the pitch, attempted to tackle her. All the unfortunate girl managed to achieve was to almost knock herself off her broom.

Luci quickly made it to the other end of the pitch and was setting up to shoot when she had to swerve violently to her right as a Bludger came speeding in from below her. It missed her by centimetres, but the second one, coming from above and behind the girl, caught her totally unaware, striking her on the forearm with a sickening crack.

Screaming out, she dropped the Quaffle. It was immediately thumped down the pitch by one of the Arrow's Beaters, Phillipson. Harry looked to the ref, expecting a foul to be blown, but the man didn't seem moved in the slightest. Apparently there was nothing wrong with Beaters interfering with the Quaffle in that way. Harry tucked that particular piece of knowledge away for future reference, but right then he had more important things to worry about.

Before anyone could recover the Quaffle, Harry caught the referee's eye, signalling for a time-out. The man nodded, blowing the whistle and using his wand to start the 5 minute clock up by the scoreboard.

Harry motioned to his team to come to him. Normally they'd congregate on the ground, but Harry didn't feel like getting brambles stuck in his clothing when the match might go on for some time yet.

He watched Luci closely as she cautiously flew over to them. She was cradling her right arm, and her face was white as a sheet.

"How're you feeling?" he said as she reached him, by now the rest of the team had made it over too, and Rob glided smoothly up next to the girl, letting her lean gently on him.

"Not so good." she replied, wincing as she allowed Ez to feel around the arm a little. "I think it's broken."

Ez nodded her agreement and Harry shook his head. As if they didn't have enough to worry about.

"Bring yourself over here and I'll see what I can do." he said, ushering Luci towards himself with a wave of one hand as his wand appeared in his other.

Ez looked somewhat alarmed at the sight of Harry's wand.

"Er... Harry," she hissed in a low voice, "Isn't that illegal? You're not allowed to use wands in the middle of a game!"

Harry smirked back, catching Rob's eye as he turned back to Luci's arm, whispering a simple diagnosis spell under his breath.

"You need to go read your rule book again, Ez." Rob said, sounding jovial, but looking quite concerned about Luci at the same time. "Sure, it's illegal to use a wand _during_ the game, but the rules also state that 'time-outs' are outside of 'game time'. If I wanted to, I could go over and hex every Appleby player to oblivion." he looked up and grinned at Tomas, who looked ready to do just that, "At the same time, that's just plain against the law, and I could do time in Azkaban for it."

Ez nodded, smiling slightly as she noticed the Arrows apparently having the same kind of conversation with the referee.

Meanwhile, Harry was finished with his diagnosis. Being in the field, fighting against Death Eaters for an entire year, had given Harry some unusual talents, one of which was field-medicine. Hermione had been the one to perfect it, naturally, but she'd been a great teacher too, and owing to the great effectiveness of the Death Eaters, there was an almost endless supply of medical emergencies for the Trio (and the rest of the DA, when they were around) to practice on.

And to be honest, Harry had seen injuries a lot more serious than this.

"It's definitely broken," he said simply, tapping the rapidly yellowing flesh of Luci's forearm with his wand a few times, muttering under is breath. A splint materialised along with a number of white bandages that immediately started wrapping themselves around Luci's arm. The girl sucked in a sharp breath as the bandages tightened, but visibly relaxed as they finished applying themselves.

"I've cast an anti-inflammatory charm, as well as a weak local anaesthetic," he said, letting go of the arm and looking at Luci. "It should help you get through the rest of the match, but it's only temporary. I wouldn't use the arm for anything other than holding onto your broom if I were you, or you might do it more damage."

Luci nodded, flexing her arm in an effort to test it. Not finding anything too wrong with it, she looked back to him. "How long will the anaesthetic last?"

Harry shrugged. "Anywhere between an hour and three hours," he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "There's a reason I'm not a healer: most my medi-wizard skills are a little hit-or-miss."

"Tell me about it," Robin said, from his position over Harry's shoulder, "I get that with my more advanced attempts at Transfiguration," he let out a sigh, "Sometimes I manage to turn my little brother into a pig, but most the time he ends up with just the nose."

Harry blinked, "I think I remember that..." he said, his mind skirting back to his Hogwarts days. "I was walking into the Great Hall once in my fifth year, when your brother ran out in hysterics. Although, to tell you the truth, he sounded much more like a stuck pig at the time, what with the nose, ears and tail..."

Ez's eyes were opened wide in surprise. "He was in the hospital wing for over a week!" she said, slapping Robin around the back of the head, hard. "I didn't know _you'd_ done that to him!"

Robin was gracious enough to look a little abashed. He seemed more than a little relieved when the ref blew his whistle again to restart the game.

"Don't think I'm going to let this drop, Robbie!" Ez said, pointing an accusatory finger at the lad, "Me and you are going to have a little chat later..."

Harry laughed as he rose out of the muddle of players as they all returned to their positions, ready for the restart.

For all their faults, he loved his team. He really did.

The match got underway once again, and the Arrows pressed their advantage. Luci seemed to be doing okay, but with only one usable hand, she was struggling to tackle effectively. It didn't take the Arrows much time to score, and before long, the match was tied at 90-90.

Harry started his search for the Snitch in earnest, keeping a close eye on the Arrow's female Seeker. She was very fast in a straight line, he knew, but like many of her team she lacked the ability to turn quickly. If she spotted the Snitch first, assuming that she didn't catch it before it tried to run, Harry would still have a good chance, but the woman was well known for ending Snitch chases within moments.

He'd have to make sure he was first to the Snitch, whether he spotted it first or not.

The only problem was... it had started to sleet.

* * *

Draco was not in a good mood. He'd been halfway through a very complicated brewing procedure, when his family's new house elf – Krabb – had burst into the lab carrying a smouldering package.

At first, he had been tempted to simply take out his wand and blast the damn elf back into the hallway, but one look at the black envelope had changed his mind.

Leaving the potion as it was, Draco had carefully picked up the package, hissing slightly as the extremely hot parchment singed his fingers.

_Then_ he blasted the damn elf out of the room with his wand.

Stupid thing.

Plus, Draco hadn't wanted it to be anywhere near when he opened the package. He'd recognised it immediately, having seen a number of them before, but never quite as... animated as this.

Setting it down on the counter, he'd tapped the packaging string with the tip of his wand, bracing himself for what would come next.

It had been a message, a very _angry_ message that caused a few important documents to burst into flames, and whilst that might have been acceptable to live with. Draco really wished hadn't been quite so near to his very sensitive potion. Also, and possibly more importantly, the message had been from the Master.

And that's why Draco now found himself trudging through the freezing cold streets of London, up to his shins in snow, at the dead of night, when he should have been in his nice warm Potions lab.

But, when the Master calls, you respond. Either that, or you found a nice hole to hide in for the next few years. Even then, the Master would probably find you anyway.

Grimacing at the thought of what the Master might do to someone who tried to hide, Draco turned into Knockturn Alley, making his hood was well up. Whilst he considered many of the people who owned the shops around this end of town allies to the Cause, those who frequented the street by night were allies of no man. They where just as likely to attack a Pure Blood as they were a Muggle, which made them, and places they congregated, extremely dangerous places to be, especially in the middle of a moonless night like tonight.

So it was great caution that Draco swept along the dingy street, the grubby street lights hardly making a dent into the darkness, keeping a wide berth of anyone or any-_thing_ that he encountered along the way. When he finally arrived at '_Rankin and Bettor_', he couldn't help but feel a little relieved as he pushed his way through the front door, the small brass bell marking his safe arrival with a jingle.

His mood immediately reverted to it's previous darkness when he spotted the store clerk smiling evilly at him.

"Musta' dun summit real wrong teh be brought in at this hour." he said gleefully. Draco resisted the urge to reel back in disgust as the man bared his rotting teeth at him. "Get that cloak off an' follow me."

Draco sneered at the man, but didn't argue as he threw the coat over the counter and followed the man into the back of the shop.

Within seconds of the curtains to the main shop closing behind Draco, the staircase down to the Master's office opened, and the store clerk stood aside, grinning at Draco once more.

"One thing, before yeh go." he said, "If yeh don' come back, I'm 'avin yer cloak."

The walk down to the office took less time than Draco remembered, and before he knew it, he found himself standing before the large wooden door that marked the boundary between DeBerrow's office and his magnificently plush sitting room. He hesitated, a momentary moment of weakness, before he forced his hand to knock on the door.

"Come," said a voice from inside the room, and suddenly Draco was standing before the humongous desk of the Master, his head bowed in respect.

"You summoned me, Master." Draco said. It wasn't a question, it wasn't Draco's job to question the Master's summons, he knew. If the Master wanted to tell him why he'd been summoned, he'd tell him.

DeBerrow leaned back in his chair, arching his fingers together. "Malfoy." he said casually, and Draco allowed himself to relax a little, "How goes the little assignment I set you upon?"

Draco swallowed heavily, "W-well, Master. A-a little better than expected, in fact."

DeBerrow raised an eyebrow. "Better than expected? Really?" he smiled to himself, "Well that's strange, because I could have sworn that since I set you on this task, Wallace, the owner of the Norwich Flights and your_ target_," Draco flinched as DeBerrow strained on the word, "has not only been doubling his money in every business venture he enters, but his team hasn't lost a match..."

"I-I can e-explain..." began Draco, but DeBerrow cut him off.

"You will explain yourself when I ask you to do so, and not before!" he shouted, the volume of this voice increasing with every word.

"Not only have the Flights been winning, but I have reason to believe that the little stunt with the Felix Felicis was your doing!" at this, DeBerrow stood up and leant heavily on his deck with his hands, his head coming to rest uncomfortably close to Draco's. The next few words were said quietly, but Draco heard every word as clearly as if it had been shouted too. "I can only assume that you were trying to get your old _school chum_ done on doping charges, but somehow you failed to even do that."

"I..."

"_YOU_, better have a damn good explanation for your actions, Malfoy! Or you're going to be spending a long time acting as my personal House Elf! Now speak, and let's hear what kind of story you've come up with to disguise your failings."

Draco paused, not sure if DeBerrow was being serious or not. One glimpse into the man's heartless eyes convinced him.

"My p-plan was n-never to have Potter convicted on those charges," Draco said quickly, fighting with his voice to remain level. "They were just the f-first step."

"The first step to what, Malfoy?" DeBerrow cut in as he sat back behind his desk, "If you have some personal grudge against Potter, and now that I think about it, that wouldn't surprise me in the slightest considering what he did to your Father, this isn't the place to be entertaining it. I want you to ruin Wallace, not wage your own personal war against Harry bloody Potter!"

"Yes, Master. I know that. But what better way to take down the Flights than to take down their knight in shining armour? If they lost Potter, they'd be dead in the water!"

DeBerrow frowned. "So injure him, Malfoy. Incapacitate him by breaking his legs and crushing his skull, take him out that way. I see no reason why you'd consider slipping the boy _Felix Felicis_ a way of getting rid of him."

"Because it would _ruin_ him, Master, and not only that. If Potter was seen to be cheating, then the whole team would be under suspicion, including the owner. The team would be chucked out of the League, disgraced, and nobody associated with it would ever dare show their faces again in the business or sporting worlds again."

DeBerrow sighed, and Draco could tell by his body language that the man was getting irritated again. "I thought you said your plan wasn't to have Potter convicted for cheating, Malfoy. Stop wasting my time and get to the point, or I shall lose my patience."

Draco felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, but ignored it. "The idea was to get the Potter and the Flights in the news. Get people talking about the charges. Plant the seed. I knew Potter would probably find a way around being convicted, being the 'Chosen One' can help you like that, but now people are aware that he's been accused of cheating.

"All I have to do now is make Potter cheat again, but this time, he's going to be seen doing it, and he's going to be doing it of his own free will."

For the first time, DeBerrow looked mildly interested. "And how, prey, are you going to achieve that? Ask him nicely? Offer him a bribe? I hardly think Potter is going to go along with your little plan."

"Oh, I don't expect him to." Draco said, cracking a small smile for the first time since entering the room. From a pocket inside his robes, Draco took out a small crystal vial. Inside were a few unruly black hairs, "But then, when I have this, what he wants and what he does are too different things."

"Polyjuice?" DeBerrow said, surprised. "Somewhat antiquated, and dangerous for yourself if you're caught, but effective, I grant you. And how do you plan to keep Potter out of the way whilst you're...cheating on his behalf?"

Draco turned serious. "That, I was hoping you could help me with..."

* * *

_**Appleby-Norwich Match Extends to Second Day**_

_By Niall Broomlove_

_Well, we were always expecting this match to be exciting, but it's turning into the match of the season. We've had goals, fouls, injuries, fights, and even a streaker. Unfortunately, due to a lack of light, the match has been halted for the night, to be restarted tomorrow at dawn._

_This gives both teams time to recuperate, regroup and regrow a number of broken bones, and boy do they need it. Two of the Arrow's Chasers were flying with concussion after a 5-broom pile up, and the Flight's Keeper, Devoir, was partially blinded in his left eye by a real Appleby Arrow. The practice of firing arrows to celebrate a goal was, of course, outlawed in 1894, but unfortunately this supporter forgot. He was removed from the stands, and is currently being held by the Department for Magical Games and Sports for questioning._

_The scoreboard, as it stands, reads an impressive 210 points to 130 in favour of the Appleby Arrows, and that's the score that the two teams will start off with when the match resumes tomorrow morning at 8.27am on the dot._

_One particular highlight so far has been the new Beater for the Flights, Akins. Whilst he hasn't been able to stop his opponents' slow domination over the scoreboard, this reporter would single the boy out as the sole reason why the Flights are still in with a fighting chance in this game. Only 80 points behind at this point, there's still plenty of time for the team to turn it all around, or even win it if Captain Potter can find that Snitch._

_I look forward to seeing the conclusion of this game. Look out for the report in tomorrow's edition of the Evening Prophet!_

* * *

The morning dawned misty and cold, and for a moment, Harry thought that it might be called off until later in the day. However the referee, who had spent the night in his own bed rather than the cold chalets that both the teams had been forced to sleep in, either didn't recognise the exhaustion plastered over all the player's faces, or didn't care.

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't care...

Whatever the reason, the game had been promptly restarted at the appropriate time, and the two teams set to the skies once more.

Both Tomas and Luce had been given treatment for their injuries, and they'd all been given a pepper-up-potion to stave off colds, but Harry could tell that none of them had much enthusiasm left for this game. The only consolation was that the Arrows looked about as happy as they did.

Harry smirked as he watched one Arrows player having to swerve out of the way of a Bludger, care of Timothei. Out of everyone on the pitch, he seemed to be the only one who looked anywhere near refreshed from their night in what Harry could only describe as a 'small, draughty, wooden box'. Harry was suddenly especially glad for the natural ruggedness of the Russians as he watched Timothei shoot off after the second Bludger, his baton raised high and a smile on his face.

They'd scored three times since the restart, to which the Apples could only reply once, bringing the score to a much more manageable 220 to 160, but there was still a long way to go yet. The Snitch had been as elusive as ever, and both Seekers had started to get a bit of stick from their team mates about it. Harry had taken the opportunity to talk to his opposite number before the restart, and was glad to see that the woman was looking as bad as he felt. They'd managed to crack a joke or two before the match was restarted, but it was enough for Harry to gauge that she was feeling the pressure, and possibly more than he did.

After all, the Arrows had it all to lose, whilst the Flights had the opportunity to steal a win.

Harry ducked under the Arrows' captain, Parkinson, as she sped towards the Flight's goals with the ball under her arm. He deftly moved out of the way of Luci as she raced past in pursuit, although pretended not to notice as he completely cut up McGreggor, one of the other Arrows' Chasers, as she attempted to support her Captain. The girl swerved wildly to avoid the collision, and ended up barrelling into the third Arrows Chaser, Tamblin. By the time the pair had untangled themselves, Parkinson had been removed of possession by Ez, she and Rob able to double-team the unprotected Captain with ease.

This new-found domination was sustained by Timothei, who had finally gotten a grip on the game, and by the time the Snitch was spotted, the score was a mere 250 to 230 in favour of the Arrows.

It had been seen first by the Arrows' Seeker, Dorricott, and as Harry had feared, she was already half way towards catching the damn thing before Harry had even noticed that she'd shot off. If it wasn't for Robin's timely and accurate Bludger, they might have lost the game then and there, but the momentary distraction and dodge was enough time for Harry to catch up with the Seeker, and then they were side-by-side, all thoughts of their earlier joking gone from their minds as they fought to keep the most efficient line.

Luckily, when both Seekers were in such close proximity to each other, neither side would send another Bludger their way for fear of taking out their own player, so they were free to fight it out between themselves.

It took Harry by surprise, considering what he'd read about her, when it was Dorricott that had the advantage after the first sharp turn. She'd reacted almost instantly to the golden ball's change in direction and left Harry trailing as they sped around the Arrows' goalposts. Harry managed to cut inside the last one to gain a little time, but still found himself at least half a broom length behind. He resisted the urge to grab hold of the Seeker's broom tail. 'Blagging' was considered very bad form, even though Harry was sure Draco used it a number of times against him without being called up for it.

Thinking fast, he came up with another solution. They were close to the ground, he noted, which meant that the Snitch was likely to fly upwards at any moment. If Harry could get into a position above Dorricott, he'd both have the advantage of being higher, plus he'd also cut her off in the event that she managed another super-quick change in direction.

It worked. Moments later the Snitch made the inevitable shot straight into the air, seemingly aiming for the Muggle aeroplane flying high above. Harry paused in his turn and heard Dorricott swear loudly as she realised what he'd done. Smiling, Harry tugged back on his broom handle and started the steep climb to the heavens, this time well in the lead.

The momentary pause in following the Snitch had allowed it to gain some distance, but this didn't bother either Harry or Dorricott, who were both on exceptionally quick brooms, and the pair soon caught up, Harry just ahead. The Snitch changed direction once again, levelling out at a few hundred feet, but both Seekers were ready. They sped down the middle of the pitch, flying straight through the pack of Chasers who, unlike the undisciplined Hogwarts school teams, were still playing-on, despite the excitement of the crowd around them. Harry was glad to note that Luci didn't scream this time, but soon had his mind on other matters as the Snitch reached the Flight's goalposts and corkscrewed down around the central one.

Both Seekers followed it down to the floor, skimming their knees on the brambles as they levelled out, but it wasn't until Harry heard the tell-tale whistling sound of a Bludger whooshing past that he realised that Dorricott hadn't been able to pull up in time, and was only just emerging from the thicket, well behind him. Now that he was on his own again, he was a target for the Beaters, but he put that thought out of his mind as he shot off towards the Snitch for the last time. He had the advantage, and he was going to take it.

Thirty seconds later, and Harry was grasping the still-fighting golden ball in his hand and being mobbed by his team-mates. He caught sight of Dorricott as she flew dejectedly back towards her own team, nursing what looked like a cut to the forehead from the thorns, and had a second to feel sympathy for her before the grinning figure of Rob entered his field of view.

He'd talk to the woman later and congratulate her on her game. She'd been good, very good, but he'd been better, and that's what wins Quidditch games.

* * *

Barnabas Cuffe was a busy man. He had the new graphics for the front page coming in from the design department sometime in the next hour, for which he was still waiting on photography for a good picture to accompany the front-page article on the massive period of growth for Gringotts following the Second Wizarding War. On that note, he was still waiting for the final copies of three of his other articles for pages 4, 7 and 9, which simply hadn't been up to standard. Then there was the sports section that wouldn't be completely finished until Broomlove and his cameraman, Phillipson, got back from the Flight-Arrows match in Scotland.

And he was _still_ waiting for that damn crossword...

He skim-read an article on the apparent discovery of a cure for wandrot as it was handed to him by his aide, but shook his head almost immediately.

"That's the _third time_ this month," he said, somewhat heatedly, "Tell Gough that he can't use references to Muggle films in his articles, because half our readers won't understand what '_I'll be back_' or '_the name's Gough, Marvin Gough_' means. Oh, and 'sticky' doesn't mean that your wand turns into a stick... it means, oh you know what it means. Just tell him he's being an idiot and that he's got to redo it."

The aide nodded and shot out of the room, nearly knocking over the blond reporter who was knocking on the door at the time. Cuffe saw her and waved her in.

"One second, Miss Finley." he said, moving papers about on his desk as he searched for a particular piece of parchment. He found it under a police report about a newly discovered, but abandoned, Death Eater lair that he was hoping to turn into a story, "Please, take a seat and read this. I just have to go shout at advertising for mucking up yesterday's Personals section, and I'll be right with you."

Finley nodded, taking the parchment from her boss and moving out of his way as the large man stormed from the office, shouting at the top of his lungs across the newsroom as he went. She'd only been working at the Daily Prophet for a year, but she already had a healthy amount of respect for her boss' temper, and was glad enough to simply do as she was told.

Sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs in front of the desk, she scanned the parchment. It was a letter, addressed to Cuffe, but specifically mentioning her. As she read, she picked out other names and unconsciously her eyes widened. By the end of the letter, her hand was shaking so much that she had a job reading the name of the author of the letter, a one 'Markus DeBerrow'. That name didn't mean anything to her, but there was another mentioned in the main body of the letter – her eyes flicked back up to it, just to make sure she'd read it properly – that did...

"Sorry about that," Cuffe said as he reappeared, looking a little redder than he did on his way out, "Damn people think that they're being paid to sit about charming paper planes to poke each other in the arse..."

He sat heavily in his chair, closed his eyes for a second and sighed heavily. "Sometimes, I just don't know why we bother with the _Sunday Prophet_. It might be only twice as big as the _Daily_, but it seems to create at least three times as much hassle." Opening his eyes, he looked directly at his junior reporter.

"So, what do you think?"

It took Finley a good three seconds to realise he was talking about the letter she'd just read.

"Err... W-well... It's very... A-are you sure you want '_me_' on this?"

Cuffe laughed a short bark of a laugh and leant forward onto his desk. "It's not me who wants you on this, although I dare-say it's time we gave you some more important assignments. No, that letter comes from one of the gentlemen that sits on the _Prophet's_ Board of Directors. He's been watching your work closely over the past six months, as have I, and we both agree that the series of articles you did on the impact of 'Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' in wizarding schools was exemplary.

"In light of that , he's specifically asked for you to be given this story, and whilst it is a big step up, and one that I think is a bit of a risk, if done right, it will be your big chance to get in amongst the big boys and girls in journalism.

"I'm not saying that you'll be up to the task initially. It will probably take you a few attempts to get the right angle, but unlike the assignments that I've been giving you so far, you'll have until the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts to write the thing up. That's five months, and although you'll have other assignments to be getting on with in the meantime, your priority will always be this story.

"Are there any other questions you wanted to ask?"

Finley blinked, feeling rather stupid as her boss stared at her dumbstricken face.

"I...Err...No, sir."

Cuffe smiled, "Good. You best get to work, and I still want that article on Nicolas Reynard on my desk by midday tomorrow, understand?"

Finley nodded dumbly, but managed to walk to the door without stumbling or knocking anything over. She had one hand on the brass doorknob when Cuffe spoke again.

"Oh, and Rachel?"

Finley turned to face her boss, surprised at the use of her first name.

"Obviously, this has to be kept a secret. If the _Star_ or, god forbid, the _Quibbler_ found out that we were planning an article like this, they'd be going hell-for-leather to get something similar, and you know that the kid won't give us an exclusive.

"So that means you can't tell anyone about this. Your family, your friends, the guys out there," he said indicating the newsroom with a wave of his hand, "_Nobody_. The only people who know you'll be doing this are the Board of Directors, you, me, and the kid. That way, there's no chance of a leak, and when we do finally publish the story..."

He grinned manically.

"...we'll blow them out of the water."

Finley nodded her understanding.

"Good girl, now get to work. I expect you to have at least one interview down within the week. Oh, and tell Samuels that the positioning of the picture for page twelve is wrong."

Rachel stepped out of the office and into the loud and hectic atmosphere of the newsroom, but she hardly noticed the increase in volume. Looking down at the parchment that she still held in her hands, she re-read the last few lines.

"_...it's about time somebody took the initiative and interviewed the person to which we all owe our lives. We need his side of the story, to know his thoughts and hear his fears. More importantly, it is important that, as the voice of the people, it should be the _Prophet_ that gets to tell this tale of heroics and sacrifice..."_

She felt like pinching herself, but had already done that so many times in the past five minutes that her arm was starting to throb painfully all by itself. She, a junior reporter with only a few good articles under her belt, had been given the story of the century, if not the millennium.

She was going to interview '_the_' Harry Potter.

* * *

_So, what do you think? Hopefully there was a little there for everyone (except the romantics, but hopefully I can cobble something together for them in the next chapter)._

_Anyway, I'd be grateful for any feedback you can give me. Especially useful reviewers will usually get a response from me asking annoying questions and thanking them for their time, but some people like that...heh._

_In any case, thank you for reading, and I'll see you all in Chapter 10._

_Chris, aka Fensta_


	10. Reporter Issues

_Good afternoon, everyone. You'll all be very happy to hear that I'm currently sitting in a bar in the Azores, baking in the afternoon sun (in February). It's really quite relaxing._

_It's been a while since I last updated, and I appologise for that, but I have been reasonably busy working on a ship. It's quite good fun really, if you don't mind hard work every now and again, and don't get seasick. Actually, seasickness isn't really an issue - people who start out seasick generally 'learn' not to be like that eventually. I have run out of chocolate at points, but I'm learning to cope... just._

_Anyway, here's a new chapter. It's been on my laptop for at least a month, but this is the first time I've managed to get online since the ship was in Dublin 2 months ago. That's another good thing about ships, they're great for breaking Facebook addictions. I'm actively working on the next chapter, but seeing as internet connections only happen when I can steal them from the shore, I won't be promising weekly updates. Heh, at this rate, you'll be lucky to hear from me this side of summer._

_But I'll shut up and let you read. I hope you enjoy it, and please remember to review. It may be a while before I can read them (I've got to get back to the docks asap, before they think I've 'jumped ship') they do mean a lot._

_Chris - Sitting pretty in the Azores_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Conclusion of Season Set to be a Stunner**_

_By Niall Broomlove_

_If, at the start of the Quidditch calendar, someone had told me that there would be two new teams in the league this year, I would have laughed at them. If they had told me that those two new teams were going to be any good, I would have probably hexed them for being quite so stupid. But, if someone had told me that one of these teams would be captained by _Harry Potter_, I would have probably called St Mungo's on the spot to get them treatment._

_And that's why my editor spent a good few hours in the psychiatric ward of St Mungo's, suffering from a mild case of Jelly Legs and ranting away about leaked information connecting an unknown Quidditch team called the 'Norwich Flights' with the legendary Harry Potter._

_It's also why I didn't get my Christmas bonus last December..._

_Of course, even if I had believed what my editor was trying to tell me, I would still be amazed with the way the League is shaping up as we come into the last few games. _

_The Holyhead Harpies are still clear out in front, extending their lead at the top of the table with an impressive 310-20 win over the perpetually flagging Chudley Cannons, whilst an interesting battle for second place is going on between Ballycastle and Montrose. In one of the games of the season, the Bats managed to get one over on their top-flight opponents in Exmoor, beating them 180-30. Seeker McShaldon's capture of the snitch from right under the Maggie's goalposts just rubbed salt in the wound as the Bats climb to second, dropping Montrose back to third, just 90 points clear of the ever-impressive newcomers – the Norwich Flights._

_It's not been easy for the Flights this week though. The Appleby Arrows had threatened to take the two-day match home with them for the majority of the game, played up in Scotland under terrible conditions. The first day of play had truly belonged to the Arrows, the Flights' Beaters taken completely out of the game by some masterful flying by their opposite numbers, Tamblin and Phillipson. However, going into the second day the Flights' giant Russian Beater, Timothei Markov, finally found his stride, keeping the Arrows' offence under wraps. In a stroke of genius by captain Potter, the Flights' other Beater, newcomer Robin Atkins, was played in a roaming role, catching the Arrows' defence completely off guard, and allowing his team's Chasers to start a comeback. With the entire Arrows team subdued, the match culminated with an exciting snitch chase between two of the League's best Seekers, Potter showing his skill with an impressive capture that surely puts him, and his side, in contention for retaining the 4th spot in the league until the end of the year, and the European slot that comes with it._

_With two matches left before the end of the season, all the Flights have to worry about are the in-form Tornados, 120 points behind at this point, although both Puddlemere and the Flights' newcomer rivals Portsmouth are both in the sort of form that could have them challenging for the last European spot by Round 28._

_For a round-up of all of the weekend's matches, go to Pages 7-9. For an in-depth look at the highs and lows of the Chudley Cannons, including commentary on their one and only League winning season, see 'The Lament of a Chudley Cannon' on Page 13..._

* * *

Harry Potter Apparated into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron with a small pop. Tucking his wand up his sleeve, he drew the hood of his cloak over his head and strode into the pub purposefully.

He didn't like coming into the tiny pub at the entrance to Diagon Alley if he could help it. When he was younger, despite the fame of his name, he could walk down the alley and its surrounds with a level of anonymity. Since he had defeated Riddle and become a big Quidditch star though... well, everyone knew his face without having to catch sight of the scar on his forehead.

But unfortunately, even the all-powerful Harry Potter had to go to the bank from time to time.

"Afternoon, Tom." Harry said quietly, leaning against the bar and nodding to the small statured man cleaning mugs with a dirty rag. "Two Butterbeers, if you would."

Tom grinned, showing the gaps in his teeth, before reaching under the bar and producing two tankards that looked reasonably clean. "Of course, Mr Potter." he said as he pulled the first pint, "I'll put it on the tab, shall I?"

"That would be grand. Thanks, Tom."

As Harry waited for the second pint, he took a moment to survey the pub and it's occupants. In the far corner were a pair of young men that Harry recognised from Hogwarts, pouring over a couple of parchments scattered amongst their pint glasses. A Hag was lazily smoking a long pipe near the door, the white smoke magically forming various animal shapes as she watched it rise to the ceiling, and a trio of Goblins were singing their little drunken hearts out further on down the bar, the strange Gobeldigook folk-song surprisingly calming and mellow, despite the violent nature of Goblin culture.

However, it was a person sitting on a table that looked out over the Muggle shopping street that caught Harry's eye. Grabbing his two tankards, he nodded his thanks to Tom, before wandering over and taking a seat opposite the person, placing one of the steaming mugs before the girl.

"You're late." she said, dropping her hood as Harry flicked his wand a couple of times, putting up a series of privacy and notice-me-not wards.

Harry followed suit, shaking off his cloak entirely. "Sorry, Gin. Thrombi wanted to talk tactics with me again. You know how he is when he starts talking tactics."

"Actually, I've never been in a tactics meeting before, so I wouldn't know."

Harry sighed. It was a week since he'd explained to her everything that had been going on with the Felix Felicis and despite the fact that she said that she believed him, Ginny hadn't let him forget that she felt deliberately miss-led. Things were better, but not back to the way they were and Harry couldn't quite work out why.

He watched as Ginny took a sip of her drink, and couldn't help but feel a little delighted when a small smile crept onto her lips.

"You and your Butterbeer..." she said, smirking. She took another gulp, and set the mug back down. "You know most people see Butterbeer as a child's drink, and have progressed to drinking _proper_ beer by the time they leave school?"

Harry took a sip of his own Butterbeer before answering, letting the liquid warm him from within as it always did.

"I'm not most people." he sighed. "And it's not like I don't enjoy the odd beer," he said leaning back in his chair, "I just fancy something... sweeter every now and again. That's all."

Ginny knew better. "That, and it reminds you of a better time. Before the war. Before fate forced you to grow up too fast."

Harry nodded, a sad smile on his lips. "That too."

"D'you know what it reminds me of?" Ginny said suddenly, after a pause. Harry's gaze rose to find her eyes, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, they were trained on the Muggles as they passed unawares down their shopping street.

"It reminds me of this one time in the Gryffindor common-room, my fifth year, your sixth. It was towards the end of the year, and we'd just won the Quidditch Cup." she turned to look at him, a small smile on her lips. "You appeared from nowhere, grinning like a madman and coming straight at me. Then suddenly we were kissing, and in front of everyone too. Hermione, Colin, Dean, even _Ron_."

Her eyes glazed over for a second, and she giggled, before coming back to herself. "It's still the memory I use to cast a Patronus, you know."

Harry grinned, "Me too."

The pair sat in silence for a while, sipping their Butterbeers and staring at each other.

"I miss that." Ginny said, eventually.

"Miss what?"

"I miss the way we were back then. Open and uncaring about what anybody thought." Ginny looked out the window again, "We'd sit in the common room together and just chat. Not like we are now."

"We're chatting now..." Harry said, but he knew she was right.

"But not the way we used to, Harry!" Ginny said, exasperated. "We're hidden behind umpteen number of wards, and we're in a _pub_ for Merlin's sake. I'm talking about the times when the common room was like our house. When our friends would walk past us and tell us to 'get a room' or they'd throw something heavy at us.

"The only place we can sit and do that nowadays is Ron and Hermione's living room, and with the way they are at the moment, most the time I want to be the person throwing heavy objects."

Harry cracked a smile. "They are pretty bad, aren't they?"

"Don't change the subject, Harry." Ginny snapped.

Sighing, Harry resigned himself to having the conversation he'd been putting off for a while now. "Look, Gin. I know how you feel. I miss being able to hold your hand in public, and I hate having to lie to everybody about us. But, what can I do? What other option do we have?"

Ginny leant across the table, slipping her hands into his. "We can tell people about us. Get back to living life in the open. All this secrecy is smothering us!"

Harry looked into his girlfriend's eyes, and he could see the desperate need for what she asked buried deep inside. Despite that, he knew he couldn't do as she asked.

"Ginny, It's not that simple..."

Averting her gaze, Ginny slid her hands from his and leant back heavily in her chair.

"Of course it's that simple, Harry." she said softly, "I don't understand what's stopping you seeing that."

"There are still people after me, Ginny. Just look at the Felix Felicis. They're dangerous people who believe I should pay for what I did to their Master, and others who want revenge for what happened to their parents and loved ones during the war." He paused, making sure he caught her eye, "If they learnt about us, they wouldn't think twice about using you to get to me. You know that."

"The trials are _over_, Harry. The Death Eaters have all been rounded up, _Kingsley_ is the Minister for Magic, and people regard you as one of the most powerful wizards in the country. There has never been a safer time in our lives to be together, and unless you foresee a new Dark Lord rising up in the next fortnight, that's not going to change any time soon."

Harry smiled wryly. A new self-styled Dark Lord was _just_ what he needed. There were rumours of a new wave of fear sweeping over Central Eastern Europe, but then again, there were _always_ rumours of some kind of dark power coming from some corner of the world. Albania and Bulgaria were just easy targets because of their history with Vampires.

Still, it didn't mean he should drop his guard.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. You might not see it, but there is still a risk to you if we were to go public, and I'm not happy putting you in that position."

Ginny went to say something back, then thought better of it. "There's no point arguing with you. You're as stubborn as Ron when you want to be, and as arrogant about it too, because heaven forbid that the great Harry Potter be wrong every so often."

Harry sat, stunned. Was that really what she thought of him? He'd always assumed that he was the understanding and level-headed one in the relationship.

"Look, Harry. I don't ever _want_ to argue with you, but this is something that I'm not going to let go. I am a Weasley, after all." she cracked a smile, the first one in what seemed like ages. "So let's forget about this for now and how's about we go into Diagon Alley and spend some of your well-earned Galleons on buying me something expensive?"

"Gin, nothing would please me more." Harry said, reaching for his cloak.

The pair rose from the table, throwing their cloaks over their bodies in preparation to leave.

"You know I love you, right?" Harry said softly as he helped Ginny arrange the heavy material over her shoulders. The brown-eyed girl smiled back up at him, capturing his hands in hers.

"Very much, which is one of the reasons that I put up with all your bullshit."

Harry went to argue back, but found his lips being seized by his girlfriend's. He immediately forgot all about arguing.

If the multiple privacy screens hadn't been up, it was likely that someone would have thrown something at them for being so soppy, just like the 'good old days'. As it was though, nobody had looked in their direction since the inconspicuous man in the brown cloak had sat down twenty minutes earlier. When the pair had finally walked out the back entrance and into Diagon Alley, nodding to Tom as they went, the old barman suddenly realised that he hadn't cleared the table by the window in over an hour. He'd completely forgotten that it even existed...

Tom glanced at the two robed figures as they slipped out the back, a nagging suspicion that he should know who they were, but the memory dangled before his eyes for only a fleeting second before it slid into the back of his mind. Shaking his head, Tom grabbed his least-grubby cloth and made his way over to clear away the two tankards left on the forgotten table, absently wondering how long they had been there.

As far as he could remember, nobody had sat in the window seat for at least an hour...

* * *

Rachel Finley shivered and drew her mac around her a little closer as she leant against the wall of _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. Muggleborn, she'd grown up wearing the lightweight raincoat and didn't see why she had to give up the garment just because she was a witch now. Sure, some of the cloaks they sold in _Gambol & Japes_ could be charmed to feel lighter than they actually were, and rolled up into impossibly small bundles, but in her opinion, her mac just 'felt' more like a raincoat than the wizarding equivalent.

She scanned the witches and wizards as they made their way up and down the Wizarding Britain's most famous shopping street. Her eyes paused to study one hooded individual as he stalked through the crowd. Her interest peaked, she stood up straighter, ready to approach the man, but at the last second the man's hood shifted and a lock of silvery blond hair flopped out. Not her man.

Dejected, she leant back against the wall once more, glancing at the kids who were pressed up against the glass of the Quidditch shop, jabbering excitedly to each other.

Anyway, cloaks either came in black, brown or some stupidly extravagant colour scheme that could be seen from the moon, and she liked navy blue, damn-it. She shouldn't be punished if she felt a little more adventurous than black, but not as lively as psychedelic purple.

As if to prove her point, a witch rudely brushed past her wearing a long draping cape and matching witch's hat that was such a bright shade of red and gold that Rachel had to resist reaching into her pocket and donning her sunglasses – another shunned Muggle technology.

Rachel allowed herself to track the brightly coloured witch all the way up the street, her eyes lingering on the place where the woman had vanished into the post office. She half expected a dozen or so frightened postal owls to fly from the building, screeching and generally protesting about the need for such a violent colour.

Much to her disappointment, there was no such commotion and Rachel slouched against the wall, going back to looking at the wizarding public as they went about their business. Her eyes fell on a group of children would would most likely be off to school in the new year, then a hauntingly aloof businessman as he briskly pushed his way through the crowd, his cloak billowing out behind him importantly. Rachel's gaze brushed over a pair of people in brown cloaks coming in her direction, their hoods up, before slipping back to the same group of pre-school children.

She sighed. This could take a while...

She didn't really think this would work, if she was honest with herself. Standing on the high street, waiting for the illusive and secretive Harry Potter to just stroll past her, it sounded just as far-fetched as it was proving to be. But, she was out of ideas, and running out of time too. The receptionist at the Norwich Flights stadium had very sternly stated that '_Mr. Potter is busy, go away!_', and no matter who else she approached in the organisation, they all answered the same way: '_Harry Potter does not give the media interviews._'. One security guard had even laughed at her for suggesting that she be able to ask Potter in person whether he'd be willing to give a series of interviews, before kindly explaining that he was under strict orders to escort any reporters from the premises. She'd left, under protest, and was about to start arguing with the security guard one last time before she'd overheard two members of staff talking as they walked past her.

'_...another strategy meeting. Potter is trying to get out of it as we speak – got something he'd rather be doing down on Diagon Alley, apparently._'

The other had laughed. '_More exciting than a strategy meeting? Don't blame him. I'd rather go to a Muggle dentist than sit through another one of those._'

She'd flashed the security guard a quick grin and promptly ran from the building towards the nearest Apparation point. Finding Diagon Alley slightly less busy than usual for midday, she'd found herself a wall she could watch the Leakey Cauldron entrance from, and waited.

She'd been there ever since, and after two hours of standing on the same spot, she was starting to wonder why she thought high heels had been a good idea that morning.

Sighing, Rachel rested the back of her head against the cool stone wall of the shop and stared up at the puffy white clouds as they drifted lazily overhead. She'd missed him. Either that, or he hadn't been able to wangle his way out of that strategy meeting. Merlin knew how long meetings like that took, and if they were anything like the weekly meetings they had in the Daily Prophet's newsroom, she'd be standing there a while longer before the 'Chosen One' showed up.

Of course, if she went home now, she could still probably catch '_Bargain Hunt_' on BBC1...

"...s'not like you couldn't pick up a new pair of gloves up at the club." a female voice said to her left.

"Yeh," replied a vaguely familiar male voice, "but the ones that Mathias supplies us with are cheap and only last a game, maybe two at best. They're okay for training, but I've wanted to buy my own for a while now – something a little more robust. There, they look good."

"Fine," said the female voice, "let's take a quick look."

Rachel turned to see two figures in brown hooded cloaks walk into '_Quality Quidditch Supplies_'.

Could it be?

She peered through the dirty glass like a schoolchild looking at the newest in racing broom technology, watching the pair of hooded figures walk through the shop. Eventually she lost sight of them, but not before she'd spied a lock of raven-black hair flying from the taller of the two's hood.

It couldn't be... Surely not.

Still. It didn't hurt to check.

Stepping around a group of young adults, one of which sneered at her macintosh, Rachel cautiously stepped into the shop.

It came as quite a surprise for most people when they found out that she'd never actually been inside this particular shop before. Not a big fan of Quidditch, or flying for that matter, she'd never felt the need to venture inside a store that dealt purely in those two things. So as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the slightly darker lighting within the shop, she attempted to get her bearings, mapping out the store in her head.

To her right was the main stand, with all the latest broomsticks of the day, including the rare and sought-after Lightingbolt and a mock-up of the upcoming Comet 720, whilst to her left was shelving that seemed to house every single book to do with Quidditch that ever existed. However, the pair of brown-cloaked figures were nowhere in sight, so with her eyes now adjusted, Rachel ventured further into the shop.

Like most shops on Diagon Alley, the insides of the shop were much larger than their shop front might suggest, and soon Rachel found herself getting lost in the maze of shelving.

One minute she was dodging out the way of an excited youngster who was holding the strip of his favourite team, and the next she was stepping around a group of young wizards who were seemingly mesmerized as a charmed Snitch flew in circles around their heads. She passed magical posters of topless male Quidditch players, and even a small stand containing miniature moving statues of the very same players, playing their own miniature game within a miniature stadium.

After five minutes of wandering, Rachel was starting to think that she'd lost her quarry, and turned back towards where she believed the door to be. She might spend hours getting lost in the store and never find him, but if she was standing in the doorway, he'd have to walk past her eventually.

Therefore, it took her by complete surprise when she accidentally walked into the back of one of the brown-cloaked figures.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Here, let me get that for you." she said, stooping to pick up what she'd knocked out of the hands of the man. It was only as she grabbed it that she realised that it was a pair of expensive looking gloves.

"Thank you." said the figure, still hiding his face within the hood of his cloak. He took back the gloves and started to walk off. Rachel nodded and turned to go back to her task of finding Potter...

Hang on a sec!

She glanced back at the hooded figure as he made his way down the shelf of Quidditch gloves, inspecting a second pair.

"I wouldn't go for those, if I were you." she said, spur of the moment. She had no idea if they were good gloves or not, but she wasn't going to let that stop her now she'd gotten this close. "They feel like quality leather, but get them at all wet, and they'll fall apart after a game or two."

The man's hooded head turned her way ever-so-slightly, but still didn't show his face. "Thanks," he said, putting the gloves back on the stand, "I'll keep that in mind."

He turned away, and Rachel smiled to herself, happy that she could help the nice man out. Now if she could only find that Harry Po...

"What's going on?" she said aloud, confused. The hooded man froze, and Rachel suddenly remembered. That man was Harry Potter, she was sure of it. So how did he keep... Distraction and memory charms! The sneaky little...

"What about these then, Harry?" the other hooded figure returned, gloves in hand, except her hood wasn't up. Rachel recognised her almost immediately as Ginevra Weasley, Order of Merlin 3rd Class, and a close friend and associate of one Harry Potter.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" Rachel said, stepping forward. The Weasley girl looked at her, wide-eyed.

The hooded man seemed to slump in defeat and lowered his hood, revealing messy raven black hair, wire frame spectacles and vivid scar. He was gorgeous, she realised absently, better in real life than in the posters she'd walked past earlier. Rachel stared for a number of seconds before she realised what she was going and glanced away, embarrassed.

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter." he said in a low voice, obviously trying to avoid attracting any more attention than her shouting his name had already caused. Rachel noticed a group of girls were already looking over in their direction and giggling behind their hands. Suddenly she realised this was probably the wrong place to have a confidential chat with him.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Harry's voice cut through her thoughts. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to force down the nerves that had suddenly surfaced. She was a professional, for heaven's sake, and this was strictly business.

But then again, this was _Harry Potter_! The saviour of the Wizarding World many times over and _Witch Weekly's_ 'Most Eligible Bachelor 1999'! When she thought about it like that, all her carefully scripted and practised material went out the window. She felt like a schoolgirl talking to her secret crush. She was at a loss for words.

It must have shown on her face, because the Weasley girl coughed politely into her hand, flashing her a warning glare.

"I-I was w-wondering..." Rachel started, but quickly decided what she was trying to say would have sounded lame, so stopped mid sentence. She tried again. "W-what I mean to s-say is..."

What was she trying to say? Why was she here again? Oh... the _Prophet_... the assignment.

All her thoughts went out the window when Harry Potter smiled good-naturedly at her plight. He must get this all the time.

Oh! This is stupid!

"Look." she said, forcing out the word and finding strength in the fact that her voice hadn't cracked when she'd said it. "I'm from the _Daily Prophet_..."

That's all it took, and Harry Potter was walking away. He was at the other end of the isle before Rachel realised he'd moved, and his hood was firmly back in place.

"No, wait!" she gasped, lunging at the cloak. "Please, at least hear what I have to say first!" Potter paused in his escape, whether due to the effect of her words, or because she had a handful of his robes, she didn't really care.

"All I need is _five minutes_ of your time. _Please!_" she said, quieter this time. She hoped she didn't sound like she was begging.

Potter turned to face her, his vivid green eyes piercing out from the darkness of the hood and into her murky blue ones. There was no smile, but a that hardly mattered if he was about to hear her out. She daren't look away, but in her peripheral vision Rachel could see the Weasley girl cross her arms, obviously annoyed with the whole thing.

"Five minutes." he said, and from the way his eyes hardened as he spoke, she knew she wouldn't get a second more, "but not here."

He grabbed her wrist and with a nod to his companion, the three of them made their way through to the very back of the shop, Harry practically pulling the reporter after him. When they finally came to a stop, Rachel realised that despite the fact that there was next to no natural light in this corner of the store, all the orange around them caused her to long for her sunglasses once more. She looked at Potter curiously.

"It's the Chudley Cannon's section of the store." he said with a shrug, "The only person who comes back here is her brother," he nodded in the Weasley girl's direction, "and even he doesn't like to hang around."

Ginevra coughed out a laugh, "A proud supporter, but still ashamed to acknowledge it in public. The wimp."

Rachel allowed herself a small smile, filing that piece of information away for later use, but then the conversation went silent, and she found herself once more on the spot.

"You're eating into your time, Miss..."

"Finley." Rachel replied quickly, "Rachel Finley. I'm a junior reporter at the _Daily Prophet_."

Potter seemed to twitch at the sound of the word 'reporter', but it was the look on the Weasley girl's face that worried Rachel the most. It looked like the girl wanted to curse her on the spot.

"Look, I know you haven't had the best relationship with the _Prophet_ in the past..." Ginevra mumbled something dark under her breath, but was silenced by a sharp look from Potter. "...and I know full well that you would never normally give an exclusive one-on-one interview to any reporter..."

There was a pregnant pause.

"But..." Harry said, breaking the silence.

"But... I think it's time that you told your story." She held her breath, and when neither of the pair went to argue with the concept, she continued, encouraged. "I've been asked by my editor to do a series of interviews with you, looking into your time at Hogwarts, your battles with and eventual defeat of You-Know-Who, and your relationship with those around you during this time." Rachel's eyes flicked towards the Weasley girl, but her eyes were cold and unwelcoming.

"Once we end the interviews, and you think I have a good grasp of what actually happened, I'd write a special report about your life that would be published on the front page of the _Prophet_ on the Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Everything that goes into the article would be from what you tell me in the interviews, and I'd even be willing for you to view and edit the final edition before it was printed, just to make sure you're happy with it - I'm no Rita Skeeta."

It was Ginevra who broke the silence this time.

"No, you're Rachel Finley. The woman who wrote all about how my brother's products, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, were detrimental to children's development and progress in school." The girl's eyes blazed, "Because of you, we saw a twenty percent downturn in sales, and ended up with over a hundred lawsuits from parents claiming for damages on their children's poor performance in school!"

Rachel was taken aback. What could she say to that?

"Settle down, Gin." Harry said softly, reaching out and rubbing the young witch's shoulder. "All of those lawsuits were laughed out of the Wizengamot, and as far as I could see, there was nothing '_non-factual_' in any of Miss Finley's articles. You know better than anyone that the twin's inventions are specifically designed to cause havoc and mayhem. There was always going to be something negative about WWW in the press eventually, and you and I _both_ know that the way Miss Finley handled the articles was quite tame in comparison to what we've come to expect from the _Prophet_."

He flashed Rachel a quick smile, "If anything, I'd say that Miss Finley did a pretty good job of advertising your brother's products to the older market."

'Gin' closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When they opened again, the fire was gone, but there was still a darkness in them that made Rachel uneasy.

"Perhaps." she said, locking Rachel's eyes with her own, "but she's still a reporter, and that's enough for me not to trust her."

Rachel looked over to Potter, and before he even spoke, she could tell what he was going to say.

"Unfortunately, as much as I enjoy reading your articles, I have to agree with Ginny on this one." His eyes met hers, and they were full of a weariness and past disappointment, "A reporter is still a reporter, whichever way you look at it, and all reporters want is a story that will sell papers. I'm sorry, but my answer has to be no." he looked at his watch, "And your five minutes are up."

The pair turned to walk away, but Rachel wasn't ready to give up just yet.

"No, wait! This is unfair! I'm being judged on the actions of one renegade and extremely unprofessional journalist that you encountered in your past!" She'd raised her voice, she realised absently, and people were starting to look over at them. She didn't let it deter her. "What are you worried about? That I'll twist your words like Skeeta did? All that I'm interested in is the _truth_ about your life!"

She'd been talking at Potter, but it was the Weasley that wheeled around to confront her.

"And what if he doesn't want the world to know the truth about his life? What he had to endure to keep us safe and free? What if he just wants to get on with _living_ his life without having dredge up the past every five minutes?

"It's people like you that make him have to hide himself away from the world just to feel like a normal person! It's no business of yours, and its no business of anyone else's either! Just leave him _alone_!"

A silence descended over the store that was so complete that it was almost painful. Everyone from the children holding their Quidditch strips, to the giggling girls, to the young males – the Snitch still fluttering around their ears – was now staring at the three people in 'Chudley Cannon Corner'.

Sighing, Potter waved his hand and the hustle returned to the shop, as if nothing had ever disturbed it. Despite the position she was in, Rachel couldn't help but be impressed and a little intimidated by the command of magic that the young man had.

"Come on, Ginny." he said, reaching back and taking hold of the young woman's elbow. "Let's go."

"No!" Rachel knew she was pushing it, but she wouldn't get another opportunity like this. "I can help you!"

Potter looked like he was going to laugh. "Help me? How exactly do you think you can _help_ me?"

Rachel licked her lips. This was it. Make or break. "You want the questions to stop? Right? Accept to do the interviews with me, and we can answer all those questions in the article, once and for all! Cut the questions off at the source!

"Think about it! If people get answers to all the questions they've been asking over the years, including a few answers to questions that they'd rather not ask, what right would they have to _continue_ to ask you about it? But until there is that definitive account of your life, people will continue to _question, question, question_..."

Potter fixed her with his gaze one last time, his eyes strangely sad.

"I thank you for your kind and well-meant offer, but there will always be questions where I am concerned." He replaced his hood back over his head and took hold of the Weasley girl's arm once more, "We're leaving now, and I would ask you not to follow us. Goodbye, Miss Finley."

She knew better than to try and stop them going this time.

As she watched the pair exit the shop, Rachel sagged into a rack of Chudley Cannons shirts. Well, that could have gone better...

* * *

"How _dare _she!" Ginny growled as they made their way back up the street to go home. There was no point in staying in Diagon Alley today. Eventually the word would go around that Harry Potter was there in the Alley, even with all of Harry's magic and trickery, and he'd be mobbed. It had happened before, and neither of them wanted to be around when it would happen again.

"Calm down, Ginny." Harry said, bringing out his wand to tap the relevant bricks to get back into the courtyard behind the Leakey Cauldron. He sounded far away, as if lost in his own thoughts. "She was just doing her job."

Ginny snorted. "Just because it's her job doesn't mean I have to like or agree with what she's doing."

Harry raised an eyebrow beneath his hood, "I thought you _wanted_ me to tell the world my secrets."

"Don't twist my words, Harry!" Ginny said, startling a young couple who were waiting the other side of the archway. Harry quickly distracted the pair and sent them on their way with a wave of his hand, "I said I wanted you to tell _people_ about _us_, not that you should tell _everything _to some reporter you don't even know, and by extension the entire world!"

She fixed him with a piercing glare as they reached the Apparation point. "I'm not even sure you've told _me_ everything."

Harry flashed her a cheeky grin. "I suppose we'll see then, won't we?" he said mysteriously, before Apparating away with a 'pop'.

Ginny stood frozen to the spot for a moment or two. 'We'll see?' she mumbled to herself, wondering what in the world he'd meant by that. Suddenly it hit her.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter." she said into the space that used to occupy her boyfriend. Then she disappeared with a rush of air, leaving nothing but a few rustling leaves and a faint perfume of jasmine in her place.

* * *

It was a downhearted and slightly miserable Rachel Finley that strolled back into the Daily Prophet's newsroom that evening. She'd spent the rest of the afternoon looking into other ways of getting information to write the article, but she worked out that even if she pulled all the limited strings she had at her disposal, she'd still be none the wiser as to the young life of Harry Potter. In the end, she'd still have to speculate on practically every aspect of his life.

So, resigned to the fact that she'd never be able to complete the assignment without Potter's help, she'd gone back to his club and begged an interview with his manager one last time. She'd been turned down point blank and then escorted from the building by the same security guard she'd spent all morning trying to avoid.

Her last line of inquiry spent, she'd gone home to draft a note to her editor explaining the situation. It was preferable to having to tell him in person. She could just leave it in his 'in-tray', and then wait for the inevitable explosion sometime the next morning. At least this way she could make her excuses before he started shouting at her, setting them out in a clear and rational manner.

Still, it was a crummy way to end the assignment of her dreams.

She waved at one of the copywriters as she wormed her way through the crush of desks and scraps of paper that littered the room. It was one of the messiest and most disorganised places she'd ever worked, but magically, it seemed to operate just fine.

Reaching her desk, Rachel threw her mac over the back of her chair and collapsed into it.

What a shitty day. It had never exactly looked promising, but she'd ended up blowing the chance she'd created for herself, a chance she was likely never to have again.

She wondered if she ever really had a chance in the first place. Maybe if the Weasley girl hadn't been there, she didn't seem to like her very much, and Potter obviously respected her opinion. It was rumoured that the pair had dated for a while back in Hogwarts, but the rumours that came out of that place were as unreliable as the weather. And anyway, Finley was sure she would've heard _something_ if there was anything going on between them now. After all, he was a public figure, as big as they got, and secrets that large never lasted long.

She was distracted from her thoughts when a small feathery thing landed on her desk.

"Ahh, hello Socks," she said, stroking the bird's plumage. Socks was her owl, a small pure white barn owl with black 'socks' around her legs – hence her name. The bird often visited her at work, especially when she worked late. The bird nipped at her fingers good naturedly, before holding out her leg. Rachel was surprised to see a small slip of paper attached to it.

"What's that you've got there, girl?" she said, quickly untying the knot that bound it. Was it Cuffe telling her what a failure she was? No, he couldn't possibly know that she hadn't got the Potter interviews yet. Maybe it was something more mundane, like her mother asking her to join the family for Sunday dinner next weekend. That was even more unlikely, seeing as her mother was a Muggle, and insisted on using the 'normal' postal system, even if it did take a bit longer.

So, completely stumped, Rachel unrolled the parchment and curiously skimmed the lettering for any indication of the sender.

What she read almost caused her to fall off her chair. Instead, she jumped up and whooped for joy, scaring poor Socks so badly that the frightened owl flew clean across the newsroom, coming to perch on the head of one very surprised copywriter.

Rachel hardly noticed as she sat back down in a daze, staring at the parchment in her shaking hands. Grinning, she reached into her bag and extracted her letter to Cuffe and set alight to it with relish.

After all, who needed a letter admitting defeat when she'd just bagged the biggest story this millennium?

* * *

_Miss Finley,_

_With regards to our conversation earlier today in Diagon Alley, I am pleased to inform you that I would be happy to give you an informal interview, on a one-off basis. Depending on how well it goes, and how I feel about the angle you intend to take, we may be able to discuss further interviews at that time._

_I have not informed anyone about my decision to go ahead with this interview, and that is the way I hope to keep it. You understand that this level of discretion is key to any future interviews, and that any leakage of the fact that I'm even consorting with the press will effectively end this agreement. You have been warned._

_Having said that, I would be happy to meet with you at 5 o'clock this Thursday evening, after I get released from practice at the club. I propose the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmede as the venue, although if you have a better suggestion, I'm all ears. Don't worry about people listening in. I believe you've already had a taste of the protections I can place upon myself and others to keep away from prying eyes and ears – an occupational hazard I'm afraid._

_Ginny says that I can't trust you. I'm hoping you prove her wrong._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

_(P.S. May I congratulate you on your possession of one very intelligent owl, who was waiting patiently in my study for me to get home. I once had an owl who was just like her, and she was my loyalist friend until the very end. I'll tell you all about her someday.)_


	11. Cloak and Dagger

It had come in the early hours of Thursday morning. An incessant pecking that, try as he might, Draco could not sleep through. At first he had been extremely annoyed at the interruption to his rest, especially when he saw that the owl carried nothing more than a scrap of grubby paper. With rough hands he grabbed hold of the owl and relived it of its message. Tossing the ruffled bird aside, he turned to the text, fully expecting to have to visit someone with a curse the next day.

'_It happens tonight, at five. Be ready._'

The note was unsigned, but it didn't have to be. Draco put all thoughts of sleep aside, that would be impossible now. And anyway, he had work to do.

* * *

Harry Potter shook his mane of hair dry and pulled a towel around himself as he stepped out of the changing room showers. He dodged around a hot and sweaty Tomas who was walking in the other direction and stopped at his locker, flicking it open with a wave of his hand.

"In a rush, Potter?" said Rob, clapping a sweaty hand on Harry's shoulder. "Haven't found yourself girl have you?"

Shrugging off the hand, Harry kept his mind on getting changed and reached into his locker for a clean shirt. "I wish." he said, feigning a sigh, "Some club sponsor wants to talk to me about making a 'Harry Potter' doll."

Harry shook his head, partly play acting, and partly due to the fact that this was, in fact, an almost truth. It was just that 'that' meeting had been last month. Robert seemed delighted by the idea though.

"Really? You're getting your first doll made?" he clapped another hand on Harry's shoulder and spun the boy around. Harry was initially annoyed at the Chaser for doing this, but the look of pride on the man's face quickly changed his mind.

"I remember 'my' first doll... well, figurine really." Rob said wistfully, staring up and away in remembrance. "The nose was a little big for my liking, and they had me on a terrible broom – a Comet 210, hardly my style – but it was still recognisable as me." He sighed, "My Gran, god rest her, bought every single one that she saw! In the end my dad and I had to steal them all, dig a hole in the garden and then bury them, or the house would have been full! She was so proud."

Harry grinned at the thought of Ron, who collected the figurines, purchasing an entire room-full of Harry's image, and what Hermione would say about it. Probably something along the lines of '_You can be a complete idiot sometimes, Ron. You know that? The real man is just over there, sitting on your sofa!_'

"Enjoy the experience, kid." Rob said, bringing Harry back to reality. "Eventually people get tired of the same old face and move onto the next bright new thing. Suppose you know all this anyway, hey? What with being out the limelight for a while. Anyway, I'll not hold you up any more, them sponsor types can be a little grouchy if you turn up late. Enjoy it!"

"I wish..." Harry said under his breath, shaking his head as he stared after his eldest Chaser, wondering how somebody could be so good in the air, and yet so clueless in real life. If only people 'had' forgotten him in his absence last year. In reality, he was hunted down mercilessly by the media. It was actually better now that he was once again in the public domain, because they knew where to find him at work, rather than having to sneak into his home.

He turned back to his locker and pulled on his jeans. Hopefully these interviews would do the same sort of thing for him and, just like Ms Finley had said, stop the press hounding him on the streets with stupid questions about his youth. If he could just find a status-quo with the media, he could start to think about letting Ginny have her way. Sure, the papers would go crazy for a couple of weeks, that fan group in Wolverhampton would probably send Ginny daily death threats, but once people had gotten used to the idea, maybe they'd get some semblance of life back.

Or maybe 'Harry Potter' would never get a normal life. Maybe he should change his name?

Harry shook his head again, his hair whipping him in the face reminding him that he needed to get it cut. Not completely bald this time though - there was no way he was going to let George do 'that' again.

Now fully dressed, Harry grabbed his cloak and slug it over his shoulder, giving Robin a parting wave as he strode purposefully out the door and into Flight's training ground. Navigating the pristinely clean corridors in auto pilot, he started to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to put himself through. Was he crazy? Probably. Was this reporter trustworthy? Probably not. Was it all going to backfire? Most definitely.

What did he have to be nervous about?

Checking his watch, he noted that he was already late, but that was okay. He had always planned to turn up late. The last thing he wanted was to walk into a media ambush, and turning up late always caused one or two cameramen to break cover, just in case they'd missed him. He'd spot them a mile off.

Nodding to Rosie, the receptionist, Harry exited the front door of the stadium, finding himself in the middle of what looked like a building site. Of course, no builder had worked on it since 1983, but the Muggles never seemed to notice.

Despite that, Harry found himself scanning the area as he slipped his wand out of his sleeve. He always did – a nervous twitch of sorts. Satisfied that he was alone, he twirled on the spot.

Suddenly the world turned to streaks of black and white, and all the air in Harry's lungs seemed to disappear. When he had first experienced it, Harry had tried to fight it, but he knew now that it was a perfectly normal part of the process, and so relaxed, allowing himself to be compressed into what felt like a very small Smarties tube. With a 'Pop' of expanding air, he felt himself return to real-space. Before he'd even touched the ground with both feet Harry was ducking for cover behind a grubby-looking bin.

He'd apparated into the alleyway behind Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – Hogsmeade branch, a place he knew quite well, having sneaked out of the store this way on many occasions. Happy that nobody was about to jump out at him, he silently crept to the far end, where he could survey the small square that the Three Broomsticks stood on.

Early spring, the sun had set almost an hour ago, and whilst there was no snow on the ground, this far north a thin coating of ice seemed to sparkle on every surface. Lit only by the flickering yellow-orange oil lamps of the pub, the square seemed to shimmer in the early evening air. It was almost like a scene off a postcard. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could settle down in a quiet place like this, away from the noise of the cities he was forced to live in for the anonymity it provided.

He sighed. One day.

As beautiful as it was, there wasn't a soul in sight, and the frost on the ground gave him a pretty good indication that the only people to have walked through the area recently were already in the pub.

Harry readjusted his hood to cover his face better and then stepped out into the square, bracing himself for every freelance photographer to jump out at him at once. It never came, and he managed to walk across the entirety of the square without so much as a butterfly getting in his way. He paused at the door, spying those inside through an amber-tinted square of glass in the door. It was busy, just as he'd hoped, but it was easy enough to spot Rachel Finley – wearing that same blue muggle raincoat as before, chewing the end of her ballpoint pen nervously as she read through some notes, presumably about him. He wondered what they said, and how much of it was based on the factually-lacking series of articles on him by Rita Skeeter in his fourth year at Hogwarts. Her mentor perhaps?

Harry shook off the idea. Finley had seemed critical of Skeeter during their first meeting, and anyway, it was unfair to judge her before the facts, just like it was for the rest of the world to do with him. He'd give her a chance. Just one.

Bracing himself, Harry pulled the door open and stepped inside. The air was warm, cosy, just as he knew it would be. This was a place he was comfortable, and it was also a place where he knew the landlady. If any trouble were to unexpectedly arise... Well, despite her size, Rosmerta had been known to singly handedly throw the odd half giant out when he became a little too enthusiastic with his singing.

Pushing through the forest of tightly-packed tables and chairs, Harry made his over to the corner that Finley had positioned herself in. It was a good spot, the same one Hermione had used for the only true Skeeter interview ever taken. Fitting.

At the last minute, Harry turned towards the bar.

Two minutes later, Harry sat down completely unannounced, apart from the two steaming mugs of butterbeer he'd plonked onto the table moments before.

"Sorry I'm late." he said, shuffling round so he was sitting right in the corner, looking out. "Got caught in a meeting about dolls – Terribly dull. How's your evening been?"

Up until this point he hadn't even looked Finley's way, but now he cracked a smile at her. The poor woman was staring at him like he'd grown two heads. Of course, he supposed this wasn't exactly what she had been expecting from 'Harry Potter – Saviour of the Wizarding World'.

"What? Don't like butterbeer?" he said, enjoying the woman's imbalance. "Ginny says it's a children's drink, but then, she's too grown up for her own good sometimes."

Finley stared at him for a few moments longer, before some semblance of professionalism seemed to kick in. She straightened in her seat and the notebook she had been reading through mysteriously flicked to a clean page all by itself.

"Mr. Potter..." she said, pausing to fill her lungs with air.

Harry grinned. "Call me 'Harry'. You sound like my Head of House when you call me that."

Finley's brow creased. "Sorry, er, Harry..."

There was a pregnant pause in which Finley glanced nervously at the blank notebook. She seemed lost without the notes that once appeared upon it. Harry sipped politely at his drink.

"Well, this is interesting." he said eventually, drawing Finley's gaze, "I've never been in an interview that I've had to conduct myself."

Finley ducked her head. "Sorry...er...Harry. I'm just a little...I don't...Where..."

"To begin?" Harry suggested, grinning.

Finley ducked her head again, but smiled sheepishly back at him. "...to begin." she agreed.

Harry took a long swig of his butterbeer. "How about the beginning?"

"The beginning sounds...good." Finley said slowly, and then again, more confidently "Yes, the beginning sounds good."

Harry sighed and settled back in his seat. "Well, my Aunt and Uncle: Mr and Mrs Dursley, that's 'D-u-r-s-l-_E_-y', of number four, Privet Drive, are the biggest pair of muggles you'll ever meet..."

* * *

Draco was not happy. Not yet, anyway. At the present moment he was sitting in his bathroom, staring at a small bottle of a sludgy liquid that looked surprisingly like snot – surprising, because he always imagined that the essence of 'golden-boy' Potter would be more...golden.

He checked his watch. The window of opportunity had been open for more than ten minutes now, and who knew how much longer Potter would put up with a reporter's questioning. He had agreed to two hours, but Draco knew that Potter could walk out at any point.

He had to do it, and he had to do it now.

Grimacing, he snatched up the bottle and downed the contents in one go. The taste was bad – worse even than real bogeys, but it was nothing compared with what came next. First there was the pain in his gut, twisting and stretching that felt like his internal organs had turned to rubber and were actively tying themselves in knots. Then there was his skin, bubbling and fizzing, waxy to the touch and as hot as a cauldron fire. The worst though, was his bones, cracking and resetting as they shrunk to fit Potter's smaller frame.

It was over within twenty seconds, but they were the longest twenty seconds of his life. The pain came a pale seconds to the Cruciatus curse, but this was self-inflicted, and all the way though it, there was the knowledge that he was doing this to look like Harry-bloody-Potter.

And that, if anything, hurt more.

It was a shock to find out quite how badly Potter needed his glasses, but luckily Draco had thought ahead and had a pair of glasses ready. Once he could see again, Draco quickly changed into more fitting clothes and grabbed the bag he'd pre-packed.

He had some shopping to do.

A quick trip though the Floo found him falling spectacularly out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. He tried to hide the smirk as he got to his feet, and was deliberately slow to pull the hood back over his face. Happy that he'd been noticed, Draco quickly exited towards Diagon Alley before anyone could confront him directly.

Whilst he wanted to be seen, Draco couldn't afford to be too open. If Potter found out before it was time – and the papers were sure to have a field day if he did something 'too' stupid – the entire game would be up. Luckily, the entrance to Diagon Alley was already open, and Draco was able to escape the growing murmur inside the pub without delay.

Draco headed straight towards Gringotts. It was a detour, but a necessary one. The entrance to Knockturn Alley, his final destination, was actually relatively close to the Leaky Cauldron entrance to Diagon Alley, but there would be no one there who would report seeing Harry Potter when the time came – too interested in avoiding questions as to why 'they' were in the Alley at the time. He had to find other witnesses.

And anyway, by Draco's reckoning, even the famous Harry Potter had to go to the bank every so often.

The alley was packed with early-evening shoppers, those businesspeople who could only shop at this time of night. Draco grinned and deliberately barged through a tightly-packed family group headed by one such man who looked like he was working overtime rather than 'enjoying' shopping with his family. There was a yell of protest, but Draco was able to slip away into the crowd before they could identify Potter too well.

After interrupting a couple more family shops in the same way, Draco made it to the steps of Gringotts. He daren't enter the building – the Goblins had more protections on that place than Hogwarts during the war, and Draco didn't fancy testing whether there were any wards against Polyjuice – so he stood on the bottom step and reached his hand into one of his pockets.

In a marvellous bit of play-acting, deliberately using overenthusiastic movements to shake the hood from his head a little more every second, Draco 'miraculously' found a full money bag, meaning that Harry Potter did not need to enter Gringotts after all.

Well, what a turn up for the books...

With that problem 'solved', Draco pulled up the slipping hood once more and stepped back into the crowd, happily ignoring the handful of people that had been pointing him out to their friends.

This time Draco deliberately kept a low profile. Potter had been seen in the alley – mission accomplished, but it had taken longer than he had planned, and he only had twenty minutes to get into Knockturn Alley and purchase the Felix ingredients. As much as he liked making Potter look like a clumsy oaf, he was out of time, and he still had to make his grand exit too.

After all. Potter couldn't be found guilty in the court of public opinion unless he was seen carrying a smoking gun, or in this case, a still-beating albatross heart.

Draco started to go over the plan in his head as he pushed through the crowd, but suddenly became aware of two shadows lurking just behind either shoulder that seemed to appear from nowhere. He had a tail.

Without blinking he increased his stride, this time using his barging technique in an attempt to put some bodies between himself and his assailants. It didn't work, and within seconds of his attempted escape, he felt two strong arms link into his own at the elbows. Without a word, Draco felt himself being turned on the spot, and the three of them started back down the alley, back towards Gringotts.

This time Draco paused, a small voice telling him that he was about to be murdered just for looking like Harry Potter. How Ironic.

"Wotcher, Harry." said one voice, male, although the identity of the person was disguised by a hood almost twice as deep as his own. "Fancy seeing you here." said the other, an identical voice from his other side. This time, Draco saw a wisp of violently orange hair sneak out of the hood.

All at once, it twigged who his assailants were.

"Weasleys." Draco said, hoping he'd managed to keep the venom and hatred out of his voice. "What do I owe the pleasure of your...company?"

He was very aware that he was still being frog-marched away from Knockturn Alley. Whist he was no longer in fear for his life, he didn't have time for this.

"Oh," said one of the twins, "So you've noticed our less-than-usually-friendly approach then."

"Well, we all have our little secrets, don't we, Harry?" said the other.

Draco swallowed. "Secrets?"

"Yes, Harry. Secrets. You know, that situation that occurs when one person 'forgets' to inform other people about a certain aspect of their life. Gred, give him an example."

"Why certainly, Forge." 'Gred' pulled Draco closer, into a conspirational kind of whisper. "How about when one person happens to be 'dating' a second person, but neither person tells that second person's family?"

Draco was baffled. What were they implying? That Potter was dating? Impossible, the press would have a field day. "I'm sorry," Draco said, not having to put any acted confusion into his tone, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Forge grunted. "Of course you don't, Harry." he said, patting Draco on the arm in a patronising way, "To be fair to him, Gred. Poor Harry here is so used to keeping secrets that he'd probably kept 'himself' in the dark about this one."

Gred seemed to agree. "Indeed, brother of mine. I wonder, do you think dear Ginny is in the dark too?"

Draco's ears picked up. Ginny? Ginevra Weasley? No...

"Oh, how terrible!" cried Forge, "Imagine, both of them not knowing they were seeing each other! This can't be allowed to continue."

Gred shook his head enthusiastically. "Do you think we should perhaps hold a small family intervention? It might help break the news to them."

"Too small." said Forge, "I think a press conference. Get the papers involved. Not even Potter could ignore that!"

"You wouldn't!" Draco chimed, deciding that it was high-time he at least attempted to act like Potter would – all snivelling and apologetic. "Please!"

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry." said Forge, unhooking his arm from Draco's and laying across his shoulders instead. "Of course we would!"

"Why, I'm almost insulted." added Gred. "It's like you don't know us at all."

Draco swallowed, very aware that he didn't. "How?" he asked, fishing for more information.

Forge sighed. "Well it's simply amazing how much sound travels in the Burrow when people forget to put up silencing charms..."

"The Wizarding Wireless Network...Ron's cries of anguish after every single Cannons game..."

"Fred's singing..." Added Forge, who was presumably George. To his credit, Fred didn't even pause in his dressing down of Harry.

"...even secret rendezvous between lovers. Caught Ron and Hermione loads of times, but then, they never tried to hide it either."

"It was rather disturbing, actually." said George, who seemed to be full of one-liners today.

"So, imagine our surprise when we hear a different set of voices coming from that room. Why, we just had to investigate."

"And the rest is history. Except in this case, it's not, because it hasn't happened yet, but it will be one day."

"'Something to tell the grand-kids', as they say."

Draco nervously checked his watch – Fifteen minutes before Potter would disappear. "What is it that you want?" he asked, acting defeated.

George seemed offended. "Want? We don't 'want' anything but the truth, Harry."

"And interestingly, apparently so does Ginny." Added Fred.

"So that's why we're giving you a month..."

"Twenty days..."

"_Ten_ days to break the news to the rest of the family, or we're going to do it for you."

"Understood?"

Draco nodded, trying to keep his face down so the pair couldn't see the gleeful smile that was slowly spreading across it at the thought of what the pair might do to Harry once those ten days were up.

"Ten days. I understand." he said.

Abruptly, he was released on both sides.

"I know this is hard, Harry. But it's not like we're asking you to tell the world. It's just Mum..."

Fred paused and stared at his brother. "Actually, on second thoughts, I might lend Harry that new set of dragon-scale armour we recently acquired. He's going to need it to survive the hug Mum'll give him."

"Ahh, he'll work something out." said George, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "If he survived old Mouldy Wart, I'm sure he can survive one day of Mum being...well, 'Mum'."

The pair gave Harry an identical cheeky smile and then walked the short distance to their store, talking as they went:

"Fifty Galleons says he doesn't survive the night."

"Make it Eighty, and you're on!"

"Done!"

Meanwhile, Draco tried not to smile too much as he headed for the nearest floo. A glance at his watch told him that he only had ten minutes before Harry Potter would turn into a Slytherin, but it didn't matter any more. He had information that made his Felix Felicis plan look like a playground prank.

Harry Potter had no idea what was about to hit him.

* * *

"...and that was pretty much the end of my first year at Hogwarts." concluded Harry. He necked the last of his fifth butterbeer and signalling for another with a wave of his hand. He gratefully allowed the warm liquid to sooth his sore throat. Who knew talking could be so physically demanding? He wondered how Hermione managed to cope.

Rachel Finley shook her head as she scribbled the last part down in her notepad. "Unbelievable!" She said, reading it back over to make sure she'd gotten everything. "You really stood up against You-Know-Who at the age of eleven? And won!" She shook her head again. "Truly unbelievable!"

Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it wasn't all that impressive, really. Tom was still weakened, and I had my mother's protection still. Apart from Quirrell's attempt to strangle me, I wasn't in any real danger. I'm not even sure the killing curse would have worked if Quirrell had tried to use it, on account of the prophecy. Maybe that's why he didn't?"

That last part had mostly been to himself, but Rachel's ears perked up. "So there _was _a Prophecy! And what was that about your mother's protection? Does it have something to do with the night you got your scar? We haven't talked about that yet, you realise..."

Chuckling, Harry gently put his hand on the top of Rachel's notebook to stop her scribbling. "All in good time," he said, taking the book from her. She hesitated for a second, but did relinquish her hold begrudgingly. Journalists weren't known for their generosity when it came to letting people read their notes after all.

"Encrypted." said Harry, more intrigued than annoyed as he surveyed the squiring script. He took out his wand and tapped the page. Nothing happened. He tried again.

"Either you have an exceptional talent for encrypting written text, or I'm being extremely stupid." Harry said eventually, handing the notebook back. "Which one is it?"

Rachel tried to keep the smug look from her face, although the feeling of having one-upped the Saviour of the Wizarding World was making that difficult. She shook her head. "Oh no, Harry. A lady does not reveal her secrets, especially a lady reporter. I have my livelihood to think of here."

"Seeing as I've just given you enough information to write a short novel, I'd have thought your 'livelihood' was relatively secure at this moment." Harry retorted.

Rachel shrugged. "Maybe once we're all finished. I'll let you in on it then. That is..." she took a deep breath, "...that is, if you're happy to continue with these interviews?"

Harry was tempted to make Rachel sweat a little, especially considering her tight-lipped stance on her notebook, but realised he was having too much fun to really turn down having another chat.

"You know, I think I would." he said, and he saw Rachel physically relax back into her seat, genuinely relieved. "Honestly, it feels great to finally get some of this stuff out, and we've barely even scratched the surface."

"Same place next week?" Rachel asked tentatively. Harry shrugged.

"Why wait that long?" he said, taking out his diary. As much as Ron teased him about it, Harry had found the little black book essential for keeping track of his life since joining the Flights. There was always a meeting he was meant to be at, or a media launch of some new broomstick that he was contractually obliged to turn up to. Without it, he would have needed a full time secretary, and he didn't think Ginny would enjoy him being followed around by a young, blond witch straight out of Hogwarts.

Harry flicked through the pages, catching a brief glimpse of a lime green sticky that marked the training session at 0600 the next morning. He sighed and flipped forward a few pages before finding a clear slot.

"How about Monday evening?" he said, happy to put a line through the game of wizarding chess that Ron had been trying to get him to play for months now. They both knew who would win, Ron just liked to show that he wasn't getting slow in his 'old age'. "It's my day off after the match against Montrose, but I've got nothing planned."

Rachel seemed surprised. "Wh..Yes! Of course! But, don't you need that time to, you know, relax and be at home with your family?"

Harry laughed. "That might sound like the perfect day to any other person, but when your 'family' is made up of your two best friends who are so violently in love that they're constantly fighting... Well, being on the quidditch pitch can sometimes be more relaxing." He smiled at Rachel. "Plus, I'm having fun. It's not often I get to talk about the good-old-days with someone who actually listens to me."

Rachel tried desperately to ignore the words, but felt heat creep into her cheeks nonetheless. She deliberately studied her diary intently as she wrote in the appropriate page using her special script. Be professional, damn it!

"Monday evening it is then." she said, risking a glance over the top of her page. Thankfully, Harry seemed intent on scribbling in his own diary, and hadn't noticed her temporary loss of composure. "Around eight?"

"Make it six. Rosmerta always has live bands in here at eight. The place will be packed, and we won't be able to hear ourselves think. I might stay to listen afterwards though, you're welcome to join me."

Rachel felt her heart skip a beat.

"We'll see." she said. "We'll see."


End file.
